It does not use Face ID.
You just hold it to your breast to activate.
It has no chip, no apps, no Bluetooth.
It stays fully charged by the rhythm of your movements like a good watch.
When you gaze on the display it pulses warm color and purrs.
It is the perfect reflection,
of this perfect Self.
It fits in your palm like a lotus blossom, like a butterfly.
It needs no case, it’s made of mycelium.
It is more of an affirmation than it is a power-sucking leech.
A window to the soul for you, and you only.
It makes no chimes or chirps, it makes no demands.
It is the God by your bedside, an infinity mirror…
In which I lean and loafe at my ease,
In which I celebrate myself
Through my merry tweets and treasured tales:
The sound of the belched words of my voice, words loosed to the eddies of the wind,
saved somewhere in the cloud.
A few light taps…a few embraces…a reaching around of arms,
The delight alone or in the rush of the streets, or along the fields and hillsides,
It is only with you now
Walt Whitman phone
that I am truly satisfied.