Sometimes I catch you dancing in the corner of my eye,

using one blue iris as your personal disco ball

to quickstep through the haze of my peripheral

until I notice the tip of a finger, the point of a shoe,

the shadow of a smile.

I have yet to turn in time to catch the music,

beat too quick for me to match your tempo.

You’re gone before my feet even hit the dance floor

and I won’t find you by searching.

There’s never been enough of you to recognise.

Daily Prompt: Hidden