In the quiet hush of twilight's grace,
I cradle a bottle, a precious embrace.
Liquid gold, a potion so divine,
I pour on my scalp, in a rhythmic line.
Fingers dance, a gentle caress,
As oil meets skin in a soft press.
A soothing journey, a tender song,
Oiling my scalp, where strands belong.
Nourishing roots with love and care,
I whisper secrets to the strands of hair.
In every drop, a promise to heal,
To make them strong, to help them feel.
With patience and time, the ritual complete,
My scalp, my soul, both find retreat.
In this simple act, a bond does grow,
Oiling my scalp, a daily glow.
For in this moment, a world apart,
I find solace, a piece of my heart.
In oiling my scalp, a tale unfolds,
Of self-love and care, in every stroke
