The secret taste, my own hand is completing, ice cream.
A private joy, the moaning, the fleeting, ice cream.

My unplayed sonnet craves for a maestro's crescendo.
A freezer’s siren song, I’m powerless, beckoning, ice cream

My desires, untamed garden, unexplored, ignored,
A frozen bliss, in pleasure's heat, I'm needing, ice cream.

Remorseful echoes haunt my yearnings, an abandoned hall,
Useless empty calories to be worked off, sinning, ice cream.

A painter’s brush, my hands splatter ecstasy, uncontained,
Flavor's colors, in pleasure's heat, dripping, ice cream.

Wisp of my scent, a memory of vanilla and sea salt, 
Sugar cone explodes, no napkin, fingers sticking, ice cream

Imagined lover, I cup myself, between fingers, a slow pull,
Creamy soft serve cup, caramel drizzled, spooning, ice cream

Flavors of passion, spices of desire, I’m taste-testing,
Wandering endless isles, reading labels, discovering ice cream.

In pre-dawn mist, my sighs rise soft to kiss the sky,
Candy sprinkles scattered on hot fudge; uplifting ice cream.

Beneath the stars, my haven whispers, Gaia’s soothing grace,  
In every touch, I find my truth, my love embracing, ice cream.

If you leave who will prove that my cry existed?
Tell me what was I like before I existed.

Once by my ear, having passed through my brain
I can barely remember your sigh existed.

She tried to replace cake with another’s bread
although we all knew no supply existed.

I reached my goal anonymously
They had no knowledge my try existed.

Bursting with implosions and marble-seamed spikes
you, Annie, were thus, before “goodbye” existed.

Just because you’re feeling sick of it,
does not mean that I am sick of it.

Are we not quite good at faking?
We ought to record a flick of it.

Make sure you show it to Mom;
you know that she’ll get a kick of it.

…And Babel’s tower collapses;
It’s lucky we still have a brick of it.

The present is almost invisible
whilst one is in stood in the thick of it.

F*, how are you still so pretty?
I don’t understand the trick of it.

And hours of effort are lost now;
all that it took was one click of it.

Doorways are metaphorical, she said,
as she made short work with a pick of it.

Just because I am now sick of it
does not mean you must be sick of it.

Once more, I must write about you,
as all of my thoughts are about you.

You said we’d be late, and we were!
I never had reason to doubt you.

These false-framed friends of the system
theatric, purport to flout you.

Fingers in everyone’s purses
ensure none shall actually rout you.

Without trying, I collect mythos.
None have the power to doubt you.

…(Your) wrist was chill to my touch,
as the void won battles throughout you.

Annie, why bother with others
knowing none shall write about you?

We are the People of the Heart, the kings,
Without the crown, the throne and golden rings.

The morning-bird may call its mate at dawn,
I hear something different when it sings.

The world mourned the summer, but I have felt
The rest of falls, the madness of springs.

Tomorrow is still far away from us,
Today's today, let us see what it brings.

From north to west, from east to west each time,
O world, you pulled me with your locks as strings.

Imprisoned in the garden of illusions,
I picked the flower-leaves and made my wings.

I am Mahi, the poet who saw meanings,
Since times immemorial, in many things.

My beloved April moon,
when the poets write ghazal
they are writing about you

The goddess of love,
Aphrodite,
cried when I told her
that you may leave

Her tears shedding
for you to stay,
like drops of Venus

Come back
For the goddess
of love’s sake,
come back

I know a scared God
(I've seen a scared God)
A living-way-up-there God

Slumped outside our orbit of violence
We're wishing you just cared God

Upside while I'm downtown screaming:
YOU KNOW THIS ISN'T FAIR GOD

You're hiding up in nitrous heavens
A help-only-if-you-dare God

As our sins slip into the water supply
You've given us nothing to bathe in God

These California fires; these 2 a.m. stabbings
All this suffering isn't rare God

With nothing else to live up to
I guess we have to wear god.

My body aches - beating my brain, I yearn for rest.
The work needs done. I cannot sleep until I rest.

That sleep - that nodding off that interrupts the song
while silence plays; a long fermata on a rest.

Awake and you’ll be deaf to what you’ve missed,
but open your ears and you’ll appreciate the rest.

I wish we could be present while we slept,
so we never had to miss a single click of rest,

until the very end. When the players play their loudest
even if they’re resting, a long eternal rest.

For the music doesn’t start until you’ve given
pause— to the contents of your mind. Let yourself rest,

and listen to the universe and its crashing chords;
echoing in that quietness, speaking through that rest.

And as I ache, I, Tyler, look towards playing that final
performance – one that’s sure to give me rest.