“She had two lips like strawberries, and the seeds gave her kisses texture. I preferred kissing her over two scoops of vanilla ice cream.”

“She had lips like two wavy slices of crisp bacon, and her kisses felt like gravy on my scrambled eggs tongue. We made love like we made breakfast—and then we made brunch like rabbits.”

“I like ice cream with my cake. But in moderation, and not like five gallons with a cupcake. For that much ice cream, I’d need at least two cupcakes.”

“On the frozen tundra, I milked a cow and pumped out ice cream. Strangely, it had chunks of strawberries in it.”

“A kiss involves two people, so I not only have to think about me for me, I have to think about me for her, her for her, and her for me.”

“Just like trying to ice skate on two sticks of butter in the desert, my love for her melted and was no good to anyone but a chef.”

“We danced together. We didn’t look graceful, but how could we? She only had one leg and I had my eyes on her friend the whole night. Sure, her friend couldn’t dance either, and literally had two left feet, but I’ll take two left feet over one left foot any day.”