She is searching for a loving dude, the single one who will understand
what she offers through the information portals of life,
a man who will solace her when the close captioning glitches out
and she fails to be invited to the hottest conference calls of the summer

A gentleman who will support her dream of becoming the number one
developer of podcast queens, and a postmodern matriarch,
which is why she is always surveying the scene for someone
who can parlay a bilingual hookup into sensual feelings and attachments

Tonight, she lives unsatisfied at a level only a neglected wife knows,
even though she promises she is completely non-espoused.
Oh, where is the man for her? She laments over a future dreamboat
who will bring above average lovemaking in the meantime before death

Postscript: she admits she thinks I am the milk and honey of her crusade,
a solution who will do her heart and bank account favors,
but only if I trade her expired valentines for some maiden names,
saving her from this purgatory where her love songs are marked as spam