Bleeding at the margin

Her pulse rate 
blending in with mine, 
at the margin, 
only appearing
to be bleeding, 
two rings 
slightly locked into each other, 
a cut in the rim, 
blood brotherhood, 
every moment 
one might slip off the other, 
a bangle too wide for my wrist,
i wear it because it is beautiful 
but will i, will i ever 
grow into it,
India.