It Seeks the Nipple.

The wind blows her straw-like hair as her husband lays dead in the dirt, spilling out his essence, his eyes glazing as his lover's wails grow louder. She clings her silent babe to her breast in protection, but it seeks the nipple, eerily undisturbed by the father's decease. It hungers, for grief does not affect this developing human's demanding stomach.

Her tears drip onto the baby's bald nape as it lustily suckles her pink nipple. The babe grows as she drains, as her life melts into another, as her grief rules her mind. Her spawn's belly fills with delight and the body becomes sleepy. And the bags beneath our mother's eyes swell ever so slightly.

This is growth,
Our lovely thieving growth.
It is infinitely old,
And it is eternal.