Lazarus

The injury of sex--
this wound, this scar--
heals like sweat
evaporating.

Recalled,
my cooling body
begins to breathe.

I am Lazarus
wrapped in linen,
fever broken, walking;
I am
roused from the grave.

You wanted
(so badly) to see me again,
to fuck (I presume)
but now
you keep your distance. 
Standing
pressed in the corner,
you say I smell
of decay. 

To assuage you,
I sleep
outside
like a dog
without the moon
to summon
my howl.