Old Lamp I Found in the Trash

Your lamp is bending, he told me. And it was.
I'd joined the broken halves with duct tape
and now majestically the lamp
was nodding its head down to the pillow.
Shadows flashed and grazed me with the spotlight.

Prop it - prop it against something, I gasped.
Oh, I'd never have yielded the heat of the moment
To something like a floppy lamp. He rolled off me
And leaned it on the table.
We'll have to throw it away, he said. I was panting.

His messy sunrise of hair, the curve of his buttocks,
the touch of his hand. He said,
How can people make love with the light off?
I want to be able to see you.

This was all long, long ago. There was a drop of sweat
running along my neck. Outside
night rested on a blue green spring.
The empty ache as he withdrew with a shudder....
Why do I still remember?

In the morning before leaving he towelled his hair
As the sun rose up through the window slats.
Later I found a used condom
Draped on the bedside table.
He'd tossed it and it splatted, plop!
Like a Dali clock.
Then he'd reached out and - click - it's all black.