I shelter not from thunderstorms but run into the heavy downpour arms outstretched, I laugh gleefully like a lovesick drunkard...

My awakening is Namaqualand in August. I am bleeding orange, pink escapes from my lips, purple appears in my dreams at night...

The higher I jump, the higher I fly, I wait in vain for my bones to crush on the hard ground but they never do. Or have I just not...