#wallacepoetry

[themochasystem]

I Call It Love

A poem about in-system intimacy

By Wallace Wells - The Mocha System

I've met a lot of men like me, who exist inside a body that doesn't belong to them. And many of them describe the others who share that unfamiliar body with them in such affectionate detail.

The common consensus of missing their lover's touch and embrace when fronting is one that I can understand. I've been there many an evening. I know the suffocating weight that presses down on your chest when your partner isn't conscious. It's not that the experience of being away from my lovers is alien to me.

I've felt it well.

At the risk of sounding insensitive, I sometimes find it funny, from my perspective, when I hear men tell me that they "miss" a lover who lies right beside them as they speak. The one who hears their voice, and sees the tears welling in their eyes, as he laments the significant other who is closer to him than any two singlets could ever be to one another, in the physical or mental sense.

I wonder how he couldn't see it. I wonder why he couldn't feel it.

Two different people, of different identity, different experience, of different name and memory... As unique as any two men could be. These men are not one in the same. They hail from entirely different walks of life.

And yet, here they are.

Brought together in the tightest form possible. A shared vessel that lets the two lovers hide away from the world outside the body, with nothing to hold them back. Nobody can touch them here. They are safe. They are alone. They could not be judged.

The vessel would make sure of that.

I feel my hands move on their own, disobedient to my own thought or command, sliding up my chest... Caressing my face... I'm powerless to stop it. For while I lie in a singular body in the darkness of my second home, I know that the touch is not mine.

I smile.

I laugh.

Tears begin to blur my vision in the dimly lit space. Though they're different from the ones shed by the friends I've spoken with.

I can feel his breath against my neck. The body's nerves tingle. It knows what I'm experiencing. The vessel knows the reality of our love. It ensures I won't be able to escape the playful embrace of my lover. It doesn't matter if I'm fronting. For here we are, together. Sharing in this moment of exploration and sweet care.

That's undeniable.

A hand runs through my hair. I hesitate to say that it was mine.

If a limb can move on it's own accord, and caress me in such a way that feels unexpected, unpredictable... If it's gentle, tender contact with my face leaves me with shaky gasps and a bubbling excitement in my stomach, surely, this is no longer mine.

Nobody could understand.

Nobody need understand.

In this moment, all we need is the two of us.

We understand.

My lover and I sometimes share a body. It isn't as scary or uncomfortable as I had always pictured it.

Nobody is lost. Nobody is distant. Quite the opposite.

I've never felt as close to my lovers as I have when we both occupy this vessel together. I reach for our phone as I sit at our desk, and he pulls the body's arm back with a mischievous gleam in his eye.

"Not yet."

He'll plead.

"We have so much time. Let me have this time with you."

I hold his hand. They're clasped tightly. We have so much time.

I could never understand what it's truly like to be away from him.

We're stuck together. It's out of our control. Call it destiny, call it the way of the world, call it coincidental circumstances. If you're unwilling to broaden your understanding of what it means to be alive, and to exist, call it delusional.

Myself,

I call it love.

[Divider Credit: @cafekitsune]