Land-escape

"It's just hummus," I replied.

"It's all over his hands, I've got it, no really, are you sure, 'cause I . . .".

"It's fine."

Sigh.

If it were, fine, I wouldn't be here alone,

dripping in discomfort as I reach for salvation.

If it were, ok, I wouldn't be here with two,

speaking to you,

Of how the transition from one to two

is ten times harder than I thought.

At twenty-six and smitton,

And at twenty-nine, we sacrifice,

The I for them,

All ifs for when,

See, there is no lasting then.

And, then I met she.

A whole host of choices, a set I didn't see,

And, I did, I found it beautiful.

Who could better appreciate

the continual efforts forward

the pure lack of me

but him

with his she.

He knows, and persists,

like I persist still.

And, although I know her,

without knowing any her,

I crave the savior in he.

Are you both searching?

For an out into the in?

For your self, admist

self-lessness,

your her against the she?

I complemented the response

with a certain lack of (french: that certain something)

the I, exposed.

Yes, I take it for the team-

underneath the orgy of need:

family.

Yes, I fake it.

I take it, as all hers

while longing to be shes

I take it because I can't

bear

to mistake the I from underneath.