Eyes are the Scouts

I am not the same as you, valentine
I ignore the data emissions,
the goosebumpin' stream of information packets
received by the mainframe,
and printed out under my sports jacket.

I am not ashamed of you, valentine
The jagged flatline means nothing to us.
Talk to me.
Let me know if you like what you see,
for the eyes are the scouts of the heart, my love.

She replied:

If the whole world got served
to you on a hotplate,
and the pressure you were dealin' with
went 'boom'
like a microwave stocked with
silver magpies in a hallmarked aviary,
what would you say?

I had to admit:

that although I am a shiny new pin,
with loyal butlers who would rather dive
before an assassin's dart than see any damage to my skin,
I am not good with communications technology.

So I whispered:

Listen, the birds that encircle this restaurant
are the harbingers of stolen moments,
selling our privacy.
If we leave now, we still have a chance.

The eyes are the scouts of the heart my love.
Let me know what your eyes are telling you
for seeing is believing, after all.