Eula Dormi

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Thunder roars, the rumbling stomach of the sky

Wants me to know I'm running out of time.

Gray clouds ripple and drift across pale-blue cliffs.

I scowl back at my computer screen

As its flickering taunts me.

There's more to fantasy than wondering if Alfred Molina is too handsome to play Chronos.

(Though just right for Poseidon, Dionysus, or Prometheus.)

The Greeks were right— time always eats its young.

No more time to escape the world—

I have to show them the goddess I am,

Before the hours gnaw my rusted bones.

I'd rather be stung—

Naming my daughter after a drag queen than a saint,

Because her strength will be more than faint.

I'd rather anoint myself in the oil that can't hypnotize

The curious eyes of the unbaptized

Because what I'm doing is out of grace,

Yet I'm too Christian to spit in God's face.

Who are they to call me vulgar,

For doing what only makes my sleep suffer?

I didn't think anyone would mind

Me considering myself a prize—

Not to be won, but a gem shimmering in ore,

A woman who gives her own encore,

And to the man precious enough

To give me every pulse of his love

Looking like an ancient god in the process,

Silken toga coating his plump delicious caress.

Enough light has faded for time to be full

And too tired to eat my dreams whole.

Let me get my wallet in place—

The angel who dreamed him (and me) deserves a raise. 


(NOTE: I came up with the name Eula Dormi before I recommended it to AI Drag Race. So if a season 4 queen has that name, I suggested it. Here it is a fun alter ego of mine.)

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