centrifugal, the false force

she says there's too many cogs        
behind the face that gets peeled        
     
i mention future primitive    
and tell her that now        
has always been a machine        
       
the oldest promises matter        
most, the rest can't handle        
the stress of time        
       
i agree that my carbon engine        
is best suited for the asphalt        
laid on the outer circles        
but the inner tendrils        
that excite themselves to spiral        
still speak to the singe then shine        
of my diamonds       
       
and we are too young to assume        
how subtle our bodies must sit