Self-Portrait Without Breasts

by Clare Best

Tangled hair, charcoal-socket eyes,
mouth slack after one more long night
restless on my back; this body’s fenscape –
manscaped, hills removed –
the meaty joints still livid, tight shut mouths
where distant territories were stitched
 
in touch. Blood seeps in deltas over ribs,
yellow and purple track to the waist.
You’re even more beautiful now, you say
and I believe, for though I never was, I am
explorer, seeker – I’ve travelled,
and I have an ear for truth.