Seven

Eight times I thought about it,
But I never did it.
Even when I dreamt to touch it,
I couldn’t reach it.

The first time I was a kid,
To tell my parents; it was a need,
I cried for a thousand seeds,
that some day I wouldn’t see.

Later on it was my lovely friend,
A coward bomb made us believe in hell,
After that nightmare my life changed,
Twelve years later, still so empty that jail…

Here it comes, the King of Happiness,
Best bottle, regular underwear, enjoying the casualness.
One advice: the coffin has no pockets; more is less.
Wonderful smile; devouring tumor; eternal kindness.

Three more times because things are great.
Those big nights I’ll never forget.
For my new life I couldn’t wait.
So the metamorphosis found me awake.

The Seventh Avenue is one block away.
Could be at any moment, destiny, accident or mistake.
Probably there is much more over there,
But I prefer to enjoy now, just in case.

Eight times I thought about it,
The last time: tonight while writing.
Its own existence makes possible to love this.
Next time will be while flying, or walking or running.