The wild wold dance

Between these soft stroked sheets
That hardly let out a soft bleat  
And the of the hard shafted trees
That nearly hold back eastern breeze;
The kiss of a new winter reveals In wild throws of milked thrills,
That now tells of nothing else but this
(a deliberately hidden line)

And from here:  like a madman upon the shore
I fight for less but I always want more
And  as my old soul cries
and climbs upon this near light.
And from  within and without this thin dark,
And without this thick light
The sod soft fingers creep: and escalate then penetrate
Within and without and all about
Leaving clefts that are bereft of heart’s  welcoming.

But like a wild owl whom beats his eternal wings,
And whom  soars  above like a sacred  offering
That then   leaves  their claws a dark mark  on bare bark
And then along this long dry sexy skirt of dirt
And in whose soft lioness longing eternal eyes  
Spies are seen  through such   soft cooing sighs
that in turn 
Wise words that then deliciously leave a hushed thrill.
My soft hands play They mould this  warming  clay
As my heart reaches  for the day 
Made of warm soft grass that smells rich and  sweet
To then lift and raise a glass  of  satisfactio
n That is  then  tasted  and  released  delicately 
From within  and without my damp  parted  lips
In soft  throws  and in a curled  release Of satisfaction.

© adh 2015