What do you do when you’re drawn to the do?
When somehow, somewhere, by someone,
there’s nothing that’s left that’s not been done before?
I mean, what’s there to be afraid of, except,
well—you know—you?

And yes, I know you’re tired, of course you are.
But you’re also all aflutter from the naughty
you’ve discovered, I can hear your pulse
pounding in your desire.
Just beware what you scratch,
there’s more than warm blood
welling from the bottom of this one.
And speaking of heat,
you left the door open
when you went your way home
and that’s making the temperature rise—
perhaps it’s that bridge burning beneath your feet.


Thank you for reading Will. I humbly appreciate your visiting the Book of Pain, and as always, I look forward to your comments.

The photograph was taken in Sedona, Arizona, along the Oak Creek river, just north of town. I had stopped to take pictures of the canyon and quickly grabbed this shot when I had the chance. For more photography, please visit the Book of Bokeh.


Photograph, poem and notes © 2014 by John Etheridge; all rights reserved. The poem and accompanying notes are licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Unported License. This applies to all original written work found on this site, unless noted otherwise. The attribution claimed under the license is: © 2014 by John Etheridge,  https://bookofpain.wordpress.com. The photograph is not licensed for use or reproduction in any way, unless so granted in writing by the copyright owner.


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