The texture surges through you.
Entered by the finger tips.
The finger tips, the entry for so many foreigners.
Eager reaching grabbing seeking
Touch here then there
Silky? Smooth. Crunchy? Crusty.
It abounds in life
From a chair to a knife
Your fingertips can tell you the story.
Performing nicely without a hitch
They work without a thought
No effort and there it is! The entry of so many sensations.
If its glazed
They can tell
If its sanded
They can tell
If its woven
They can tell.
And tell they will.
Informative digits they are.
Sharing their life’s work free of charge.
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