It takes all the fun out of it.
Peeing on sticks.
Tracking cycles.
Not as sexy when every
come hither look translates to
Come, inseminate me
I want your reproductive cells
near my reproductive cell

I feel like a walking petri dish,
each month is a new experiment
teetering on the edge of
elation or disappointment

I read a book on motivation once,
it said if you pursue two goals
with one activity you enjoy it less

Before, we had sex
because we wanted our bodies
to feel good together,
to shiver and quake
and rock in waves of release

Now, we do it
mostly to make a baby,
and it’s not easy
like they tell you in health class,
it’s not happening by accident.
It’s hard goddamn work.

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