I had a dream about you. At first you were a mannequin, and I was a fashion designer. Then, inexplicably, we switched roles and I became the mannequin. But instead of putting clothes on me, you laughed at my nakedness, and you sold me to the owner of a sex shop. 


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.


We made love like green is blue. That’s because we were only half into it, though for the record I was the blue and she was the disinterested yellow.


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


She told me she loved me. She told me a lot of things. Some of those things were true, and some of those may or may not have been true. It’s kind of hard to tell, because to be honest, I wasn’t listening.


Love is inaudible—until you hear it. And once you do, you’ll never forget the sound of her voice.


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.


I am in love, and the river is beginning to ice over. I’d better go drown myself before I freeze to death.


I am the Trolley of Love. Free rides before noon and after 11:58 am!