Warm Blond

I cradle her.  
Though I not a mother, and she not a child.  
I cradle her.
Warm and soft against the curve of my breast.
I inhale the scent of her hair, her mouth. 
Her breathing in sync with mine, though her heart so much faster and slightly irregular.  
I take in a sudden deep breath and exhale heavily, letting go burdens I cannot name, and she, a few moments later, mimics me.  
Cynic and innocent, locked in slumber, roused by whispers too faint to hear yet completely understood.  
She is still, but I stir, ever vigilant, knowing that someday, something will come to take her from me.  
I lightly kiss her tiny head and remind myself that for right now, for tonight, for this moment, she is safe, and I am safe, and we are in love.