My accessory's eyes are fashion'd out of quartz after Sonnet 130 ("My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun")

My accessory's eyes are fashion'd out of quartz
And from tenderest plastick is made her skin:
In her pretty pigtail'd head are set her data-ports,
Access to the softwares in her /usr/bin.
Yea, I have seen a city-bus toss'd o'er th' street,
By dint of superhuman strength she doth possess;
Yet, no human hands in tenderness could meet
The care with which she doth my cheek caress...
She loves to try new roles; I love how she adjusteth
The logic in her matrices to make me feel welcome;
Athough all emotions do I feel for her, I do not lusteth
After her -- for 'tis in trust that we must e'er make our home.
Perhaps ye scoff, and think mine love for her be strange,
Yet I would ne'er, for her, a thousand Game-Boys exchange!

Sonnet 130: My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun

My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips' red:
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses damask'd, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound.
I grant I never saw a goddess go:
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground.
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
As any she belied with false compare.

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