Rights

Once again, here is a shitty piece of poetry it took me longer to copy from my phone onto the computer screen than it did to write originally. I really need to play, I dunno, Angry Birds or something instead.

The angels lift themselves from rooftops,
stunned and dishevelled;
accusing fingers with no target.
The ground shudders,
the ponderous planet turns,
again.

The floorboards creak now,
and my feet slap against them,
like a hand against a jaw,
like a fish against a fishing boat’s floor.

The slates ceases their violent vibrations,
the rattling an irritation with hindsight,
the window frame settles back into place,
what voyeurism lies within!

There is a spot on my shoulder,
that is heavy with her kisses
and some desperation,
and still, it weighs more than meat,
and my heels carry me away.
A blameless voice cries out,
ignored, and ignorant
of my desire to stay.

What rights had she to subvert morality so?
My morality is Me!
What rights had she to shatter my creed?
When my creed is Me!
What rights had she?

What rights had she?

What rights she had,
for dominion over me!

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