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