Tight jaw, grinding thoughts of plans
Pulsating, he maps today as overlays of yesterday
And so stubbornly, he assumes his positionality 
As if written by an attentive God, he occupies all the space on the table, selfishly 
Rolled out, he once again opens the paper, rearranges the dots, scans the memory
He figures the plot and he shifts the lines further, draws in his thoughts
Caged in, the battle is fought, 
Even when the design is set, it is the way he was taught. 

‘The door is ajar’ they shout at him from afar 
And the feast is for sure,  he sternly grinds his jaw
Unshaken, he draws each line from the tail of the other
Each move is articulated, each action is accounted for
Fixated traditionalist- a true creator,

He is the owner, he is the mapper
And as the clock ticks, the arm stalls, it tiredly moves and obeys the law
He is meticulous, and in that hour, the droplets skid off his face just like butter 

I adore this feverish creature, so inticing
Filled with spirit, he delves in, ‘moved by the fingertips of God’, 
A true appreciator, a master worker. 

And I like that motion, I love the heavy flutter
Constant movements in the guts of my lonely gutter, it fills me up
It cures a raging hunger. 

I take my seat at the table, I tap my feet in excitement, patiently
I feast my eyes, drum my fingers on the wood, a melody
The wait stutters in that song, the fringes shrink closer
And time collapses, it completes His divine plan, your desire 
Because you are the skilled architect, you are the master worker