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Poem
Every time I dream,
I dream of her I do not know,
whom of which I do want so.
And when I dream I dream so well,
that I can't hardly ever tell.
That it is a dream at all
till I wake there staring at the wall.
Scent and taste and pain and fun.
Awake and dreaming, the difference is none.
Memories of things that never did take place.
And when I wake, a memory of her face.

See every night she comes to me
where we spend time so happily
and in those eyes such great things I see
We go every where I've never been,
to across the world then back again.
A time so grand yet tis all pretend.
Dinner, walks, late night talks,
those long legged socks with her hair curled.
Skirts or pants there are no can'ts
and when we dance we are the world.

Every time I dream,
I dream that she's right there.
I dream of her soft skin, sweet smell,
and here orange hair.
I hold her close, I catch her scent.
Every night, that's how I've spent.
Looking in those sapphire blue eyes,
complimented by her orange curls
Even though I am asleep,
my head well it still twirls.
How her hand it fits in mine,
and we are each others' just right height.
What a way to pass the time,
each and every wondrous night,

When I close my eyes I always see her hair.
Slightly wet to cause some curl
But I turn around and she's not there.
Until it is that I drift off and she's waiting just for me.
Her hand outstretched a warming glow,
anticipating what tonight will be.
The music's soft to match her voice,
there is no choice with her I want to go.
I want to see, want her to be,
I could never tell her no.
She smiles with her eyes,
when they lock onto my own.
I take her hand to follow
and this glimpse I'm shown.

Every time I dream,
I dream of how she looks at me,
and the way she makes me feel.
I dream who I want her to be,
And how what if that she were real.
I feel it in my stomach and feel it in my chest.
It feels as though I am awake, 
even though I am at rest.
And somehow I have no clue,
but somehow she feels it too.
She loves me more than anything
always she shows me so,
And when the clock begins to ring.
How I never want to go.

Cause every time I wake
well once again I break.
When I see that she's not there,
lying next to me with her orange hair
and so that world begins to tear.
Ripped away from me
so quick, complete,  entirely
and soon sets in reality,
but I'm not quite ready to leave.
The alarm clock is blaring while I'm staring,
at the ceiling still full of feeling.
As the image of her fades from me,
and I wonder who is she.
Or how it is I could so feel,
for someone who is not real.
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