Book of Baby Names, Missing Titles

Condom dried out, so I take it off –
no longer contained,
we start working,
getting somewhere.
I’m slick with spermicide
& spit & I’m about
to finish when you joke
about our child.
with your blue eyes,
skin somewhere in coffee
heavy with cream.
I join in, still trying to come,
imagining tightly curled hair,
that relents at each end,
unspooling. We can’t help it.
Trading features, I want to hold
onto every conjured freckle
as I begin to grow soft,
then give up.

Gary Jackson