Tristan Robert Lange

My Dream

To the woman who loves me so,

To the woman of my dreams,

When will I meet you?

I can almost feel your touch,

But I cannot see you there.

When Will I see you?

I can smell your sweet perfume,

Yet, I cannot feel you.

When will I feel you?

To the woman who’s as soft as snow,

To the woman I do not know,

Where are you?

I can picture me hugging you,

But there’s no one there to caress.

When will I caress you?

I can feel your lips touching my skin,

Yet, I cannot see them.

Where are they?

I can see your hands pressing against my chest,

But I cannot feel them.

Why can’t I feel your hands?

To the woman who is not here,

To the woman of my fantasy.

Will you come for me?

I can feel your existence,

But ‘tis all a dream,

Can it be reality?

I see your image in my head;

Yet, is it all a dream?

Will it be reality?

I don’t know,

But, ‘tis all a dream.

‘Tis my dream…my dream.

© 2025 Tristan Robert Lange. All rights reserved. Written circa 1992.

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