Making love to me is amazing. Wait, I meant: making love, to me, is amazing. The
absence of two little commas nearly transformed me into a sex god.
If you have the woman you love, what more do you need? Well, besides an alibi for the time of her husband’s murder.
To find out if she really loved me, I hooked her up to a lie detector. And just as I suspected, my machine was broken.
I make love with a focus and intensity that most people reserve for sleep.
I love being in love, but I also love other things, like not being jealous, overly sensitive, or needy.
Our love was a two-person game. At least until one of us died, and the other became a murderer.
If I could bronze my love, it’d be worthy of a silver medal.