Bog Body Love Poem

Lover, love the peat-parts of me,
the curl from neck to shoulder, the lichened
small of my back, my dimpled thighs.
The too-soft plum-skin parts of me,
plums drawn to the earth by their ripening,
overripe plums sugaring the worms.
Moss-tender, moss-retentive, the parts
cruelly preserved. Winter-humid parts,
nosy parts, love the murk of my eyes, then
love my eyes. Make love an ouroboros.
Make love a carbon sink and rejoice
in that earthen stench, opaque mist
draping herself over the earth, how silk-
like and barren. Love the acidic parts
and love what blooms there, what tangles
in lack of oxygen, what nests in the downy thick.
Soothe the tendrils, lover, love the delicate
soil undone against fingers, take me apart
and put me back together and love
the gaunt parts, the too-taut parts, the quiet
bubbling up all around us, the wild
and the hurt parts, rain and fabric and flesh.
Lover, love the parts of me that are impossible
to love, then love the doving sky, how it bursts
for you, how the clouds run and run.