In my mother’s car

In Sicily

We listened to mixed tapes

I made in 1992.

Back then

I still counted

Each time I took a plane,

Every single one a step

Towards adventure and adulthood.

I recently stopped counting

Something else.

After New York I don’t even know

What counts as sex

And some of those 

I prefer to forget,

The landing was rough.

My last Italian lover

Had been six years ago

So yesterday

In bed

My mouth spoke English.

My first non-Italian lover

Was Dutch

He expected me to say

Exactly

What I wanted him to do.