Your ring makes my hand happy.
It lends a reassuring weight
to my right index finger, like a
counter weight to the hard bone
My fingers move more nimbly now,
and my wrinkles are smoothed away
by the shining silver
and elegant infinite hearts which
circle and gently hold on
to the lowest point of my arm,
number four of five,
a finger quite useless for anything
other than wearing a ring.
Now that it is decorated so
it looks beautiful,
and I wonder
as I cooly regard my hand again,
whether this was my
fingers purpose all along,
and it had only been waiting
for the right man.
I met him, and
my hand demanded a ring.
Other parts crave other things,
and are periodically satisfied,
but my hand is positively grinning
now, so I think that
I have done well,
and I have found the right man.
The ring flashes in the light,
silver, light, fantastic
band of hearts,
delicately comforts me each and
every time I look at it.
Just like he does.