A Phone Call After Dinner

I am trying to substitute your face with this phone.
But let us be honest --
No Nokia, no Verizon 3G smart-berry has the capacity to replicate your contours.
Not even the Iphone, with its HD image capture and its smooth and silky touch screen, makes an even veritable trade.
You know, all these letters piled together can be simplified. 3GHDR2D2.... though the acronyms have taken on new meaning through repetitive cultural use, they can still be simplified into single, fully-telling words.

Accompanying your face is a name, but your name will never be able to fully tell the story of your face.
To know this story you must experience it - like one of the Spanish words for knowing. They say conocer. To know. To experience. The Spanish always understood the multiplicities of knowing far better than we.
So in the spirit of the conquistador I have held the smooth ridge of your cheek to my palm, I have wiped away tears from your eyes. As the eldest, I admit I am protective. There are pores in your cheek that I can see when I have sat across from you in the past- it reminds me that you are human and open to the world. (Though your 15 years of life would like to close itself off from everything, at times.)
I miss you, more than midnight poetry can suppose.

And for those that insist that cell phone vocabulary will never pass as poetry, my only reply is: The things you spend the most time with become part of your heart. And our heart, friends, is the only example of living poetry that we have.

Tonight my heart reflects only the screen of an Iphone, as your voice travels one hundred and ninety eight miles to fade quickly in my ear. I can't grasp it; sound has no pores. Tonight my heart reflects only a screen; smooth and without any opening to the world. It does not open to me.