MichaelAndrew Doyle - Lazerus

Lazerus turns his head.
In the crook of his arm
the boys head is still
sleeping fast. Sleep
scented and hot to the
touch. Lazerus slides
closer under the duvet
the boy stirs but does
not wake. Dawn echoes
on the window pane and
the flat planes of the boys
skin, and with that flesh
pressed against his chest
he is risen from the dead.

MichaelAndrew Doyle

http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/lazerus/