She remains lost

But better than the last time we were together
I have become the wise priest
Crafting and sharing words of comfort
Words as much for me as for her

Sometimes we play
We play with tarot cards
We play Capoeira
We play with our arms and hands in each other’s 
Sometimes we play
When all I want to do is to shake her
I want to shake her and tell her
To scream out that inner child’s voice
The one that gets angry when it feels mistreated
And to adopt that same child’s innocent curiosity
The one that searches around people’s bodies
Not just behind closed doors

I also want to tell her
That I feel more close to her
Than ever
That her struggle is the same as mine
That she is precisely the person I can tell these words
That she keeps me wanting
Keeps me wanting the sweetness in her voice
To enter me warm like
Heated up milk mixed with honey and cinnamon
I want her generous embraces
To smother me like
Thick lipstick kisses from an overly eager aunty
I want the softly sizzling fire in her belly
To explode and erupt like spitting, spewing lava
I want her in my room -and undressed
I want her strong frame spread over mine

So it seems
I’m not that priest
She sees in me