She gives me the look, the same one she throws whenever we brush our teeth together late at night at the double sinks. It’s somewhere between tolerance and abject disgust. Disgust because I not only eat meat but wolf it down rare. “Face eater,” she hisses through toothpaste and spit. “Vegan slut,” I mumble. I’m guilty as charged. Face eater. Chewer of tissue, fat, and gristle. Sucker of bone. My kidneys have slaved separating fuel from creature waste. The ghosts of a hundred beasts cling to my intestines. Lambs surface in dreams. These newborns remind me of pups on stilts. They spring through meadows and flowering landscapes, roaming free of anything human.