'Twas 'one day'; 'tis ours now

Captivated were my eyne, how that scarf laid wrapped around thy neck; 'twas my sight for one in a long time - ah! little! how little did I know of myself as Dex.

Only black, red and white had we, but with thy smile woven so delicately that all colors rested in them - for I found my Em.

Thus scrounging for a glimpse of thy visage the day I beheld thee, I sit down - a missive my intent, am I not ready Em.

I sit and stare at this white of the paper thou always saw as a maple, and concede I with thy poetries now for seek I must some recourse - when art thou writing to me next? Hath I not seen Dex in a while.

That twilight shade with no auburn hue of the sun is barely visible. 'Twas the light I saw thee in, drenched in nothing but absolute sweetness. Indeed, has that light died out with thy steps. Yes, had I head them... had I heard them all too clear for my abode to be in a labyrinth dear. Ah! Why do thou not write? Art thee busy doing life as am I? Of course thee are for how can we not be? 

Now my feet art grubby from beneath, but caresses my soles the dust merely as I drown below the skin of my eyes, and behold thee pass by -

down that London street with steps pacing forth for another day. Still I wait for that 'one day' when can we both say each other's names. Can we?