Warmth

The blinding lights peeked through her pale, blue eyes

that would soon be dyed of a calm coffee-brown.

A man's voice,

the first tune that drummed her ears,

was like a slow rhythm that matched his beating heart.

As she whimpered and crawled to search for a nipple,

she suckled onto his round thumb

which perfectly fit her hungry mouth.

Meanwhile, his warm hands sheltered around her small cupped body

that curled in a ball

as though she was still inside the womb.

When he brought her closer to his chest,

his heart boomed louder than the bullets of rain

that fell onto the thin tin roof.

The warmth inside the man's body was all enough

to only notice the faint lullabies of the wind,

rather than the stifling coldness it left behind.

The hot steam from his nostrils glazed her young fur

in a dry warm bath

with the spice of love directly from the chef, himself.

✦✧✦✧

One day, she will be bigger,

and the world will be too small for her outstretched legs to expand.

She'll explore through the open window,

beyond the sight of the old path.

But if she must ever return home,

not to depend on her eyes or she would be lost.

It wasn't familiarity of that den in which she was birthed,

nor the spiky grass that was the first to nestle her malnourished body.

It was only the warm hands that had taught her,

for the first time,

what it felt like to be safe on one's guard;

expressing rather than explaining what love was.

To feel content in the floating scent of familiarity channeling from within the chimney,

and it would also return a soothing voice of internal melody,

familiar to a single person,

projecting a feeling of warmth

not on the skin

but deeper inside.

Reassuring her that

she would never be too big for the cradling nest

she knew

as her home.