Water Ring

The borrowed suit, it bit

under the arms, a damp clamp.

I felt the sweat bloom, dark,

under the pit.

He asked about my vision.

I mumbled 'synergy'

and watched his face go flat.

A small, wet sound, a sigh.

The glass of water, cold,

on the polished table.

My hand, a tremor, reaching.

The perfect, pale circle it left

when I pulled it back.

A mark. A stain.

Like my answer.