Does not compute

My personal computer's in love:

its VDU is wan, its CPU on fire;

its microchip can barely live

without its silicon desire.

Its QWERTY keys appeal for poems

of love that's unrequited;

all its system files and programs

are failing fast benighted.

No input logic can make it whole:

the hard disk of its heart is broke;

the ROM and RAM are up in smoke

for love's a virus hard to heal.

The bug that breaks its operating system

defies the laws of binary;

no bits or bytes of programmed wisdom

can cure its heartfelt lunacy.

The USB port won't connect,

the browser fails to surf the web;

for every website on the net

is meaningless when love has fled.

I pull the plug to fix the hitch

but no reboot can make it clean;

electric love defies the switch

and haunts the ghost in my machine.

this is a very unique concept. i like it.

Sometimes I wonder if men and women really suit each other. Perhaps they should live next door and just visit now and then.

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Monkeys: There are no monkeys here. If you're looking for monkeys, go away. Well, actually there are monkeys, but they're of the hairless variety that writes poetry and such. If that's not what you're looking for move along.