Sex

Sex can be best described as imitation love, a cheapening duplicity of things less superficial than the empirically-minded can usually understand; culling the ascendant emotion down to the lowest common denominator: genitalia. It leaves you as cold and as empty as the other half of your bed when passion fades from familiar unfocused lust to equally familiar stark reality; from dark-rich-glossy reds, to dull-worn-grey blues, with only the memory counterfeit, and the belief that your half-cold bed is probably all you can expect from this life.