Young & Beautiful

Young and Beautiful

Will you still love me whenI'm no longer young and beautiful?
I've seen the world, lit it up as my stage now.
Channeling angels in the New Age now.
Hot summer days, Rock and Roll.

The way you'd play for me at your show.
And all the ways I got to know.

I bury my nose to his shiny, perfectly groomed hair, smelling faintly like shampoo and expensive perfume. Sweet and heavy, mixing with the fresh and clean scent of his unbuttoned, white shirt. I play with his 6000 $ ear ring admiring how much such a little thing can cost.

But why am I asking? We are laying in a suite. On a king size bed, covered with white and red satin sheets. They are soft and silky in my fingers, but not as soft as Axls skin. My nose strokes along his neck, to his shoulder. White and creamy with those little light brown moles; the smell of honey.

Everything on him and around us smells so good and I feel somehow unworthy of all the luxury.

The cloth, the fabrics, the smells, Axls warm body. He's sleepy, exhausted. We are having two days off and I forced him into a walk through the city. There are fans outside, waiting, awaiting us to give them a little attention so we sneaked outside through the garage, got into a car, probably disappointing them all to death, but I needed a little time away from fame and gold and room service.

Axls hand is in my hair, moving his fingers through them, massaging my head. I am inhaling again, deeply, refusing to release my breath for a few seconds and I can taste his perfume on my tongue. Like fruits. Like flowers. Like vanilla wine.

"I need a drink," Axl murmurs, as if picking up the catchword, then grabs beside him for the phone to call downstairs. I can hear the faint sound of two rings, then someone answering over politely.

"Could you send two bottles of champagne upstairs?",

I lean into his touch, talking against his collarbone, "Make it three..."

"No wait, three. Yeah we need glasses. Yes. It's room 103. Good. Thank you."

He sighs when he drops the phone then, still exhausted, but smiling softly when he finds me with my chin on his chest, looking at him, eyes halfway closed and trying to remembe rhow many weeks exactly we are on tour now.

Not long and there's a knock at the door, making Axl stand up with a slightly surprised expression, and I roll to my belly, listening to the table being rolled inside.

"Yeah you can open it. Just drop it there. Great, thank you."

I can see nothing with my face to the blanket, but I hear the door closing, Axl pulling a bottle outside the ice bowl, filling glasses for us. "It's french...", he says, more talking to himself than to me, then I feel his weight beside me. I lazily sit up, taking one of the small glasses from him and taking a big gulp.

"Is it?", I can taste no difference, since champagne is really not my kind of drink, but Axl loves that stuff and I drink mostly everything that's offered to me .Axl takes a long sip by himself, nodding in my direction, grinning slightly.