That building

I want to live in that building. No.
I want to eat that building. No.
I want to color that building.
Down on the carpet,
propped on my two elbows,
coloring away with all my might.
What is attraction anyway?
Some people, some objects, some creatures
call to us, singing their own peculiar song
by means of which
they crash into our hearts
and burrow, hunkering
in for the ride.
With little choice,
we hear them,
gladly obey.