The summer I was walking barefoot, everywhere.
From your house on the hill to the beach,
the asphalt burning my heels. Barefoot
to the mini market for garlic and tomatoes.
Later, to the beach bars for Zombies and Mojitos,
my sandals in my hands, wearing a strapless
dress and my salty hair. Barefoot from the kitchen
to the balcony, overseeing the Ionian sea.
Tipsy at 4 a.m., drinking jäger out of coffee cups
and trying to count the stars. We were kids.
Barefoot down from the top bunk into yours.
You; waiting for my body, still smelling of the ocean.
The first time I touched another’s flesh. It was
that summer I was walking barefoot, everywhere,
thinking it was an education.