I love full on, like 65 mph in a handicapped parking spot.


I unwrapped my love for her like one might unwrap leftovers. Gotta eat up the old stuff first, as a cannibal might say in a retirement home.


Love is bread and water to the soul. My relationships are quite soggy.


Our love was a two-person game. At least until one of us died, and the other became a murderer.


Let me be clear: I don’t want to make love to a mannequin—I want to make love like a mannequin. Oh, if only I were that animated in bed.


We made love like a half a minute. I brought the thirty seconds, and she provided the excuse as to why she didn’t have enough time to have sex with me.