Blessing

You have mine. 

I give it freely. Take her 

in your arms and love her as I couldn’t. Put your ring on her. 

Claim her. Own her. Make her yours as I couldn’t. 

Brand her. Mark her. 

Stain her in a way that changes her. I could never and never will. Perhaps you love her 

more than I. Perhaps that is what love is, to make a mark, 

to leave a way of telling, showing, having. 

Instead, I will love her in my way, in my own way, 

far from her, 

imperfectly, as I am. 

As she is.