J e n n i f e r   M a r t e l l i

 

Asexuality

 

I am like a woman who believes the sun 

is nothing less than a god 

riding his chariot across the sky. 

 

That woman would rip out your heart with a dull 

flint knife on an altar. 

She would remain a virgin if that’s what was required. 

 

All my men were scary beautiful 

until they weren’t, 

and then all I could be was kind. 

 

Like a nurse, caring nothing for demons, 

calling death death 

keeping you calm until the end