Curse you, Org.

As we walk home, the spinning rifle of the rose still hurricanes through my mind.
Walking to another flower, her hands hold on tighter.
Perhaps I said something clever, 'cause now, she's laughing.
Clever.
Perhaps it is too heavy.
Maybe this too much.
The flash-flash-flash of the camera still frozen into my eye, i wonder if the bear's too pink.
Or maybe she's bluffing.
Swoosh swoosh swoosh.
Pity.
Thank you Edgar Allan Poe.
Something in my pants vibrating, I feel the sweat in my palms.
As fast as a raven, I read the message.
Flash.
Her laughing stops, and I smile.
Flash.
Closing my eyes for a second, I hold her hand.
Flash.
Oh. Yes. I forgot the rose.