She is truly lovely
like a Victorian dress
set upon the right pair of breasts.
I respect her as if she was divine,
because to me her beauty is divine.
She belongs on Mount Olympus
with all the divine gods and goddesses
that represent beauty.
I'm afraid they will all lose their spots
because she is a new piece
of my mythical expertise,
but she is truly real
like the new skin donned on Pinocchio.
She is no fallacy,
atleast that is the way she appears to me.
Stop me if I push the podium in front of her,
atleast until I find out about the real her.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem