my denim skirt kind of like,,shrunk a little like it used to be more of an a-line skirt and now its a pencil skirt but whatever, my washing machine knows whats in vogue

Stretch out the cord like elastic
a thousand miles long
and send humming over fiberglass
my polyamide song

your hair is finer than copper wire
and curls tighter than a Graham-Bell twist
and your face is a photoelectric cell
which translates light to bliss

your breast is like the tempered glass
of a tower of CPUs
and my heart is a star topology
which all leads back to you,

I’d rather have your gentle touch
than a fortune of submarines
a thousand aircraft carriers or 
a flawless war-machine

my human love, far better
than an engineer’s metaphor,
on the faulty line please say you’re mine
and I’ll dream my way to your call.