on loveliness

i read somewhere
that a group of ladybugs is called
          a loveliness. and i wonder
what the person who gave them
that name (surely someone of at least
              measurable humanity) knew,
or thought they did, about what love
—what kind, specifically—so embeds
            itself in a thing that the thing,
subsequently, becomes an embodiment
of that love: the way river breaks into current;
the way trees make forest, simply
             by standing closer to each other
than to anything else…

               …by which I mean: i need you
to tell me which of my black spots
             you find loveliest. which interruption
of my red feels most human
to the forest of your fingers; the current
            you river into touch
along my breaking skin.