horizontal messiah

Is there respite. Nails worn
sheets have lost their zeal
cotton fathoms its begnnings
the picker left years ago.

Phone curates images
of a painting that flowed
without ebbing.
A camera gimmick plays
last glance to mimic
your Yogic movement.

My bed has lost its metal
over years of daily
unlocking,
dismissing the gravity
of its oppressive inertia.

Risen from Golgotha's
horizontal messiah.