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,
Bu 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.
Tittu
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Author:
Tristan Robert Lange (
Online) - Published: July 17th, 2025 07:48
- Comment from author about the poem: Throwback Thursday. After a conversation on my poem The Storm was had with fellow poet and friend, arqios, I got super tempted to post a more “embarrassing” poem from my youth. And so, here is one such poem. A desperate, lonely, and unpopular kid wishing they had companionship. For me, love was always less about sex and more about intimacy no matter how it was shared. And so, here is a 14 year old Tristan, bleeding their heart out on the page! Nothing like being warned after the fact, huh? 🤣
- Category: Love
- Views: 4
- Users favorite of this poem: Teddy.15
Online)
Comments1
In 1992 I was 18 and experiencing my first love which well and truly sucked 🤣 this is like I want to scream at my computer? Did you find her???????? I hope you did. I felt a song in here, some great lyrics for a love song. 💜
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