Author Information
Wash Cycle
A blouse of pearl
A crimson cloak
Two polar cloths
Not meant to coincide..
Thrown inside
The wash cycle
By chance.
And it was too late.
They'd been caught up
And strung along
By fate.
As the seconds grew
The spin
Softly turned.
Rotating colors
Hovered
In passion water.
No doubt,
The liquid extracted
Some vibrance out of the red
And bled it onto
Her pearl garment.
Suprisingly enough
The crimson settled in
At the lightest application
Of the fluid's touch.
Beautifully stained
In all the right sections.
Mingling and imitating
The other's spectrum.
Soon
The cycle grew
Into a hurricane
Of splashing hues.
Spewing in rhythm
The red to the white
And back and forth
Through the night.
then suddenly
CLICK!
Washer: off.
Something had turned the knob...
Midway through the beautiful tissue sobs
The revolutions slowed to a crawl
And would halt
All in all...
Some scarlet
Immobilized
In mid-travel
Would remain
Afloat
The water...
As the clothes were yanked.
Pulled out early...
A cloak,
A blouse,
Hung out to dry
Prematurely...
