Song I

Coffee trickles down my thigh,
an idea nestles between my breasts.
Logos touches me, cheeky,
and laughs inside me, bodiless.
I don't need clothes today,
just a word spoken on steam.
Tell me, you who made me -
do you still want Kant, or shall we drown in the sacred ecstasy
of a bathtub that knows how to keep silence?