I look out the sides of my eyes now.
Blur my own vision so I can see you.
Going sideways, the fervent typist with an americano

                        becomes you.

You are back in my space, though fleetingly.
For when I turn my head, to take all of you in  
the illusion of you abruptly fades into caffeinated reality.
Your presence no longer imposing, comforting, there.

                         You will always be on my periphery.