Our Truth

I don`t believe in a truth spoken by scarecrows I have my own sad, hidden in the middle of a freesia what is the truth after all a photograph of you kissing her or your lips softly touching my thigh the cry of a baby or my tears on a broken watch time caught somewhere between us or never hanged on a wire the wings of an eagle when the morning gains strengh or a grey dove on a deserted house my hair covering your chest or her scarf around your waist today we dance the scarecrows may sing the only truth that matters now to me