There was a film between the folds before the distance grew Residue of what remained when motion failed to move Layer over layer soft accumulation quiet evidence of friction left behind I can see the borders gather I can feel the edges bind Something meant to separate something meant to slide Smegma between Smegma within Every surface leaves a history every history leaves a skin We were moving once together now the movement wears too thin What was clean becomes remembered what was open closes slow What we leave between each other finds a place we never know Smegma between Smegma within Tiny remnants collect quietly where the larger pieces meet Softened borders hold the evidence of pressure warmth and heat Something gathers in the absence something forms where nothing should Something simple becomes structure something temporary stays too long I can trace the point of contact I can map the space between Every fold contains another every surface hides a seam Smegma between Smegma within There was never one division only layers moving apart There was never one beginning only residue at the start Pressed together pulled away pressed together pulled away what remains what remains what remains becomes the distance Smegma between Smegma within I can wash the outer surface I can clear what I can see Still the smallest trace remembers where you ended where began me Again again again the folding Again again again the seam Again again again the residue caught between.
