She was cunning,

She could read you like a book,

If you even considered cheating,

Just the mere thought of it,

She was onto you,

If you glanced 2 seconds to long at the hot girl jogging by,

Or that day you smiled and laughed with the hot barista at the coffee shop in the corner,

She would know it,

You could feel her eyes on you,

She wasn't jealous or needy,

She was possessive,

You belonged to her,

And she made sure you knew that,

And yes she had those wiccian books,

Her voodoo trinkets,

She probably has a little doll dressed like you; ready for pins,

She may have you under her spell,

But she ain't got nothing to worry about,

For it was these quirks that brought you together,

That day you saw her at the psychic fair,

She read your palm,

You were her mysterious stranger she met that day,

Every tarot card spoke of love,

She was flustered and confused,

But that only endured her more to you,

You were smitten that day you saw her,

And every day after,

And nothing will change that,

And besides you found the voodoo doll of you,

And you have hidden it well,

So maybe you are just cursed with true love,

Or is it true lust,

Maybe you will never know WITCH?