Minding the thorns,
I pulled the buttery smooth petal
from its mother base —
causing an eyesore at home
but greater goods can be that way.

It was finally ready to meet its destiny
I told it, or thought at it.

I beheld its pink poppy glory
then with a slow deliberate sweep
placed it on my skull.

I let it caress
every crevice
spring clean the built up plaque
clear out the heavy settled dust.

It seemed to know intuitively
how hard or soft
to press,
how deep or light
to dig.

The petal changed colors
depending on which part of my brain
was being accessed.

It radiated bright coral while working my roundest part,
marigold near the ears,
opal closest to the eyebrows,
magenta at the nape.

Flush and open
welcome to the pleasure dome

clean slate.