L’Hôtel

At number 56, 7, 8, 9, it doesn’t matter
Of a well-known secret street, if you knock on the door

First once, then 3 more knocks, you’re led inside
Alone, and sometimes even, not alone

A maid, without saying a word, walks in front of you
Where stairs, endless hallways, come one after another

Decorated with baroque bronzes, golden angels
Aphrodite’s and Salome’s

If it’s not already occupied, say that you want the 44
It’s the room that here they call Cleopatra’s
In the columns of its bed, standing watch, rococo style
Statues holding torches gaze below

And between these slaves, naked, carved of ebony
Who will be the silent witness of the scene
While above a mirror reflects us
Slowly I embrace Melody

Melody