70's Porno Music

Roper

April 1, 1973

I am breathing.

I found my way onto the roof of Bev's apartment. It's littered in cigarettes and broken liquor bottles.

A skirt is by the ledge?

We slept together last night. Or just a few hours ago in reality. She gave me butterfly kisses and stifled breaths.

It was after a terrible day.

After a late night studio session , I wanted to find a change of clothes and store some cash I got from a new song (It was about Bev but I had to change the name).

My front door was kicked in. My living room was trashed. They didn't find my cash (liquor bottle, top right shelf, kitchen).

A poor caricature of Bev was sprayed in red paint on my bed.

I didn't yell. I didn't scream at the heavens. I just wondered who did this. I called Bev as soon as I found it.

She offered that I stay at her place and said sorry over and over again. Why was she apologizing? She didn't do this.

I packed just a few things and cleaned up what I could before making my way to Bev's apartment.

An old woman stood next door with glasses titled forwarded and a frown on her face.

I banged on Bev's door harder than usual that I almost hit her in the face.

She grabbed my wrist and laughed a little before returning to a straight expression. She had green eyeshadow and red lipstick. A present wrapped up in a floral dress.

She lead me in and offered my water. I had two glasses plus a mug of wine before I confessed to the beauty before me that I wanted to make sure no harm came to her.

I keep seeing that illustration of her. I keep hearing her say sorry.

She kissed means apologized between pecks. And let me lay her down.

She's breathtaking. That drawing did no justice. I'm thankful she let me see what's beneath that flower printed dress.

But I really wish she would show me what's knocking in that brain when she says sorry for no reason or cry for days.

I had to get away from her. So now I'm sitting on the roof of her building, taking in the wind. Away from the beautiful body, wishing I was next to it but knowing I couldn't bare it anymore. I smelled like her and still felt her too.

What the hell am I going to do? She's not available. A woman caught up in her own mess.  Something she won't share with me. Only in hiccuped phrases and crocodile tears.

Bev. Bev. Bev. Bev.

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