From Delilah Supreme-Creator Iii Poem by Morgan Michaels

In person, the figure that popped up didn't match the rotundity of her name. No Jovian thunder glowered from her brow. She smiled and skipped across the floor like a child who'd won an award- more like Hebe than Jove, thought Donnie. Her thick-cropped, oddly stylish hair swept in all directions and was expensively bleach-streaked. Keeping herself combed seemed to be her chief purpose. The nails of her chubby fingers were pricily manicured and painted. But her face was her most painstaking attraction. Twin cloves of penciled kohl, one the mirror-image of the other- soared above her eyes- themselves mascaraed like an Egyptian queen's. A steady tracing of sepia, begun at the center hair line, divided her face into halves and continued down the nose's bridge to the tip, where it divided and arched above either ala. Her lips were carmine. Two carmine ovals heightened the arches of her cheeks. Passing, their eyes met briefly. Donnie was electrified. In the palette of human eye colors he had never seen such a blue. Cerulean and fixed. Now, the wondrous iris dilates and contracts- diminishing and enlarging its central lacune in response to ambient light. Hers, though, lacked the irritability of irises everywhere. Amazed, he recognized them contact lenses, their unearthly color selected for its shock value. There was something reptilian about their fixity.

'The serpent of Eden never had eye so blue', thought Donnie, waggishly.

But he said

'First door on the right'.

He watched her in passing, to see if she had fins. The MA was taking a blood pressure and avoided his look, so he rolled his eyes at nobody. He....