Quarter Past Six on the clock.

Dearest individual, whom inspire mind and lighten heart,
You are not loved but you are of fond thought,
Opened, have you, the door to the past,
A shining brass key and clean cut, tailored suit.
I itch in excitement and long for your touch of history,
You grace my door in elegant discolourment.
My door opening to the white light of dusk,
My October colouring in orange,
Autumn sweetening a crisp brown, the coffee and red of my dawn.
I am awake and I am waiting,
I am in what they call, I am in love.
Rolling red lights pass my window,
How I long for rain.