I didn't whisper it under moonlight.
I didn't need candles or charms.
Just your name
in my mouth
was enough.

I put a spell on you-
not the kind they teach in books,
but the kind born in glances
that last a second too long,
in fingertips that linger
like they know something you don't.

You felt it-
the shift,
the way the air thickened
when I said hello
like every syllable
was dipped in want.

This isn't illusion.
It's gravity rewritten.
Now you're tethered-
not by chains,
but by the ache I left in your chest
when I looked at you
like you were the only real thing
in a world full of ghosts.

I didn't need potions.
I didn't need spells.
I only needed to feel you-
and want you
so fiercely
that the universe leaned in
and said:
let it be done.

You're mine now.
Not trapped-
chosen.
Not cursed-
called.

I put a spell on you.
And darling,
you didn't even want to break it.