iteration :: tear into i

in my morning shower i discovered i’d a flower in my ear. it was tight so i said “bloom” but, drenched near drowned, this flower couldn’t hear. i set it out on my dresser to dry, and went about my day; when i checked on it again at night, i found it had faded from green to grey. “this won’t do at all,” i thought, and picked up my red lighter. when yellow and orange touched the petals, they burned burgundy, then brighter: carmine, carnelian, crimson to cardinaligned. it spilled a silver smoke, which i inhaled, and when i came to [now] i found my sense[s] had been scaled to spaces secret and unknown, where a single tall red flower grows: the grace note of all gardens, refined. its surety shone. there alone with worlds i was sat[isfi]ed as if i’d lied to Set and got off clear. then i felt an itching in my ear.