My house is definitely not a palace, but you are the princess of my heart.
I spend 16 hours a day thinking about you and 8 hours dreaming of you.
Baby, you're the only accept state of my finite automaton.
You are my semicolon; always present in everything I do.
You make my dopamine levels all silly.
The tenderness in your eyes suffocates my heart.
Honey, you're so sweet that even my liver GLUT2 transporters would be at Vmax.
Every time I am close to you, all my problems disappear.
Sexual talk, on the other hand, doesn't work—though many men continue to think so.