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Sometimes, when the moonshine fades from the night, I find myself glowing softly – the only source of light And in this between time,...

 
 
 
Storm

Lightning races its way across the sky’s canvas, dodging and ducking like a tsotsi accelerating from the cops. Traffic snakes and winds...

 
 
 
Synaesthesia: not

You say numbers I see colours He says months You see shapes She plays music I taste flavours We tell stories You hear accusations We...

 
 
 

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