Honey

I lived in hotel Paris with this guy, 
we shared breakfast and lunch, 
we ate waffles with cream, drank stale champagne 
because we forgot the bottle after the first toast, 
we fell asleep. He slept a lot. 
He slept like a child in bed with his mother, 
 
he would lay on his back  lightly breathing. 
When he woke up at night he would poke me 
because he wanted to tell me about his amazing dreams, 
he wanted me to wake up, wanted to know If I had dreamt, 
he told me about the women he had loved, 
he would ask me, if you were a man, would you embrace me? 
he would ask  me, if you were my mother, would you embrace me? 
he would ask me, if you were my sister, would you embrace me? 
 
He asked me, just before the big fire, 
when the hotel burned down, 
never to wear a Kimono made of Chinese silk 
or to paint my lips red, because he was afraid of his love, 
he was afraid of me when I disguised myself. 
 
It was on a late afternoon in the summer, 
when he told me he seduced his sister, 
bold and daring. But he made up at least half of it. 
Maybe he got a little reckless after 3 hours sleep. 
He sensed my suspicion, 
but he was content because his story turned me on.