a french song

Within a basket begins a menage a trois,
Unfolding two bold colors that don’t belong.
The reds and whites begin to stick out strong,
A clash of colors– that je ne sais quoi.
The socks unmatched begin to lose their pair,
And I knew forest green had met its end.
The love stripped and hid in the river’s bend,
As woven blankets, surrendering your hair.
Bedsheets, too, tangled in forgetting the way
An empty washer will still softly sing.
It cycles my songs, longing to delay
The echoes, your goodbyes do ring.
             And yet, my denial is carried among
             days-old laundry in tune with a French song.