The Watchmark

The sun left its stamp on my wrist,

a sharp-edged ring where the watch kissed.

Red skin cracked in stubborn lines,

a boundary marked by heated designs.

In the shower, water hissed on burned skin,

the divide stubborn beneath the thin.

The afternoon pressed with burning glare,

watchband’s shadow a silent snare.

A cruel circle that traced the day,

reminding me time slips away.