The cup had a lot of volume, so I poured in a lot of noise and sipped it up to my ears. And what I heard didn’t smell like coffee, but it did taste like love.
Her love was decaffeinated, and mine wasn't. Her love was also black, and mine was creamy and sweet. How could she not want to drink it up?
Coffee, it’s not my cup of tea. Being in love isn’t really my cup of tea either, but when it’s steamy I’ll sip it dutifully.
I don’t like hot coffee that’s cold, or iced coffee that’s hot. Or leftover love in a rusty thermos.
I love like whole milk. Don't give me your skim milk commitment.
Love is talking to one woman, but thinking about another woman. Now that’s commitment.
I told her I loved her, knowing she’d tell her I loved her and I wouldn’t have to tell her first face to face to see her reaction and feel rejection.
We both tried to speak at the same time, and ended up remaining silent the whole night. That’s when I realized we were in love.
I’m Scissor Tongue when I’m with her, snipping out snippets of dialogue before I even speak them. Being in love is best when you’re silent.
I’m clingy like clang on pots. My love is cookable.
I whirled in the room like a tornado wearing a tracksuit. I wasn't wearing a tracksuit, but I did have a smirk like a zipper. I loved her like my fly was open to criticism.
I mop my floor with a wet cloud. My love tissues are full of eye rain. Dinner will be served at breakfast.
My tears are salty. I shouldn’t eat potato chips while drinking my Cry Water, because it only makes me thirstier for your love.
I tried to rinse off in the Shower of Love, but you had used all the hot water. So I just stood there, crying, and peeing on my feet.
I can understand that you love to dance, because I can’t dance.
I just got a world record. It has music from Europe, Asia, North America, all over the globe. Michael Phelps also has a world record, but you can’t dance to it like you can mine. And after we dance, we can make love like Michael Phelps makes retire...
I coiled my empty straw wrapper around like a snake. Then I bit it before it could bite me. My love is as dangerous as my drinking habits.
I live dangerously, but I love safely. I always buy magnum condoms, because they’re the only ones that’ll fully stretch over my front door’s handle.
Since my love is so foggy, I could never date a woman named Misty. Or Steve, because that's my dad's name, and that'd be strange.
We were young and in love. Well, at least I was young. I was fourteen and she was ninety-four. She tried to act like she never remembered we were dating, probably due to her dementia.
Who would you rather make love to—me, or the dead carcass of a deer? Don’t deliver a hasty answer. Think it over.
