Leta Mae Poe

Anderson, South Carolina

Echoes

For every movement, for every sound,
There is always an echo...somewhere.
The bikini girl runs along the beach,
Hips swaying...body talk. She knows the boy is there.
She stubs her toe, and her voice cries out...
A faked, wordless cry. Only her eyes flash invitation.
The boy leaps...wide eyed, the girl runs laughing,
Staying but inches from his reach.
The dainty sandpiper stalks the muscular sea.
Eyes downcast, yet taunting, she goes as far as she dares.
But when the sea turns to reach for her, she runs.
Mocking, chirping, staying but inches from its reach.
For every movement, for every sound,
There is always an echo...somewhere.
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