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I Look For You In Other Truths
Published in Australia
Fiction - Literary Collections, Gay, Lesbian, Bisexual

Print: 9780992537470
ePub: 978-0-9925374-9-4
Smashwords: 978-0-9925374-8-7

Date of Publication: 16 Sep 2014
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I Look For You In Other TruthsContains Adult Content

Ramon Loyola

Published by MoshPit Publishing

Find out more about Ramon Loyola: | Facebook | Blog



 … is a meditative excursion into the sentimentality of love and of remembrances, gestures, words, familiar faces and feelings that remind you of things that could have been and what might have been. 

This new collection of poetry from the author of not poems, just words: on loving, living and longing plumbs the deep and intricate vessels of grief, navigates the mechanics of sexuality, and rambles on like a cascade of emotions that sing the praises of lessons learned in a shared life. At once literal and metaphorical, the verses illuminate the myriad colours you see in the throes of passion, the serenity of lovemaking and the propensity for guilt in the face of finding your purpose. 

The poems speak of that moment of losing someone’s heart and of encountering the spectre of pain in finding love again. 

The words are understatements about the business of love and sex and afterthoughts on remembrances. They are overwrought whims on finding happiness and truth in every face you see, in every touch you feel, in every kiss you give and receive. 

It is about your life, waiting to be shared.


any old skin,

any other warm touch,

will not do.

only yours could make me

only yours could make me yearn,

for the smoothness of

any new voice,

even of the same timbre,

will not move me.

just yours and your songs,

the sound of a thousand
soft bells

in the willing ear.

but any old skin,

even as coarse as the

reminds me only of yours,
of us,

of our skins when we


i remember
you picking it up by the roadside.

said it was for me

and then you smiled.

was a dandelion

that glowed yellow in the sun.


i knew you
saw me cringe momentarily at the sight

you knew

i liked daisies instead.

you smiled anyway

and put out your hand.


i saw how it
made you happy to see my eyes dance,

the world seemed rampant

in its colourful wildness

how the simplest token,

a flower, could bind us.


i remember
you touching my cheek tenderly,

me that daisies

for girls and pansies.

yet, i knew all at once

that you’d love me anyway.


at times, i
know, insanity is a tempting resort,

as if sulking
under the sheets could only drown your shadow

but not the
nagging sensations brought about by a bewildering world.

and, at
times, reasons are mute—they never justify your thoughts

or what your
heart feels at night

when the
moon’s shadow casts a ghostly ray

and tends to
banish its substance

to a niche
built with alienation.

why then do i
ask for more

when the
world already leans so much on my shoulders

that my
fingers cannot hold on any longer

to the
banister of life?

why then do i
find your face, your hands,

in every
corner—dark alley—that renders me blind,

that my mind
doesn’t remember who or where

you really


insanity is truly the answer.

but nowadays,
with the world gone mad,

insanity is
just a ticket for a ride downtown

where people
and strangers grapple with their minds to be sane.


then there is
no answer

and we—you
and me and them—are all but strangers,

sharing a bed
of misery, of mystery. of regret.


i sit in silence, my shadow

the only other presence

in the semi-dark.

i breathe a slow breath, my hearing

the only other sense

in the room.

i marvel at skin and hair

and figures and light;

this, the stillness of touch.

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