No, Sir, I Don't Mean Maybe...Yes, Sir, That's My Baby

I know this is very Greg Kinnear in You've Got Mail, but I just got a new computer, and my emotions can only be expressed in the form of a poem.

From the moment I saw you I knew

nothing would ever be the same.

I'll take this time to confess to you

the love that dare not speak its name.

I'll admit you've made me much happier

than any fling or ex-boyfriend.

I know this just seems to get sappier,

but to me, you're more than a toy, Friend.

In a box I brought you back home 

and named you my little Tess Top,

and now I am writing this poem,

cause you dominate my old desktop.

They can all mock and say mean things like,

"This perversion makes me want to hurl!"

But, guess what, they can all take a hike,

cause in my eyes it's just mac plus girl.

It's ecstasy, it's pure joy, it's bliss.

It's sweet and lovely perfection.

I know that there's much more to this

than simply a wireless connection.

This love is no ruse, not a con,

and you won't ever say, "I wasn't listening, what hun?"

and all I have to do to turn you on

is just press your power button.

Why do you precede everything with "i"?

like me, you must be a narcissist.

I go for a lay-up to break the tie

and you're right there with the assist.

I'm not sure if you noticed?

but I successfully referenced sports!

And even as I wrote this,

I'm dreaming bout your usb ports.

You and me and candlelight,

some wine and calimari,

your monitor is oh so bright

as I open up Safari.

The rest of this poem will be put on hold so I can go make out with my computer while I listen to some Eagle Eye Cherry.

P.S.  I would like to apologize to iambic pentameter and sports fans everywhere.