Platonic Love
--Curt Anderson
We dine at Adorno and return to my Beauvoir. She compliments me on my Bachelard pad. I pop in a Santayana CD and Saussure back to the couch. On my way, I pull out two fine Kristeva wine glasses. I pour some Merleau-Ponty and return the Aristotle to Descartes. After pausing an Unamuno, I wrap my arm around her Hegel. Her hair smells of wild Lukacs and Labriola. Our small talk expands to include Dewey, Moore and Kant. I confess to her what's in my Eckhart. We Locke. By this point, we're totally Blavatsky. We stretch out on the Schopenhauer. She slips out of her Lyotard and I fumble with my Levi-Strauss. She unhooks her Buber and I pull off my Spinoza. I run my fingers along her Heraclitus as she fondles my Bacon. She stops to ask me if I brought any Kierkegaard. I nod. We Foucault. She lights a cigarette and compares Foucault to Lacan. I roll over and Derrida.