At this moment,
when the sun has gone on pilgrimage,
leaving his brother in charge,
my heart is sure of his chemistry,
he spent so much hours preparing,
for this historical moment,
sitting underneath a mahogany,
hands and lips interlocked,
with the moon slightly portruding,
the art and craft of true love,
Michealangelo come see art to perfection,
Picasso turn and see the greatness in the craft of love,
for if true love was art,
my heart will be a classic artist.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem