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.