Sometimes I observe something
I have or haven't seen before.
Strangely more than anything,
A desire to feel it can't be ignored.

Despite my lack of reasons
I won't keep my hands away;
The texture allures like warmer seasons
In time, on some other day.

The rough edges protrude
One hand caressing kindly.
Often it feels smooth,
My fingers running blindly.

Every once in a while
I'll feel a door, a wall, a pillar
To observe its physical style;
How a victim's studied by a killer.

But more often than not,
No destruction is in mind.
Just the feeling and a thought
In my brain, attractively kind.

Sometimes I wish I knew why
I can't ignore the object.
A reality check that I try
To touch the sky is my next project.

Uncertainty is what i've been dealt,
These questions make me reel.
If it's something that cannot be felt,
How do we know it's real?