A third eye.
That's what you would call it.

The sense of knowing before I should know,
That's how I would describe it.

"Fine!" you may be tempted to say to me,
"What am I thinking of right now?"

Like the kids in elementary school
With their games, sometimes their deeply held beliefs.

And even then I'd typically
Know, without a turn of the head

Without looking up at you
But just staring at the tile

That you are looking straight past me
At the cat through the window

That you are doubting everything
I've ever said to you

Because knowing
Is such an impossible thing.

But I'd smile and say,
"Oh, that's not how it works"

And feel the disappointment mixed with relief
Seeping from your pores

As you continue to think of
That woman you saw earlier.

You know, the one you can't have
And God help you if you ever do.

I walk away and utter to myself,
"It'll last a few weeks, then she'll be bored of you."