by Sidi J. Mahtrow
Is the one that looks over your shoulder
And gives your back an itch
Before growing bolder.
Then the light dims
And the sound of music
Summons her (or him)
To provide a bit of magic.
And you try to scratch the itch
But it's just out of reach
And so you do the next best thing
You ask the witch for helping.
As if by magic the itch goes away
Now which Witch was it that refused to play?
But instead has moved the tingle to your nose
And makes you sneeze, God Bless You, I suppose.
Can't you feel the fingers moving up and down your spine
Ice cold and not at all sublime
As you pull the covers over your head
Knowing full well that the Witch is now in your bed.
So you make the best of the occasion
And put your ice cold feet up against the back of your companion.
Then when asked, What the hell!
Just say the Witch made me do it. Well?