She ate nothing but cough drops
Leaving her tongue tasting
Of cherries and menthol
Clashed to make her kisses
Straw and her lips chapped

As late nights talking
To her protégé left her
Tongue tied close to losing it
And breathless with a smile
In light that spoke of ruin

But turned her blueish veins
Into golden threads promising
A tea that tastes like wine
And a hand me down youth
Untainted by dawn

The light never held her
Wrong. Her words sung
She didn’t have much
In her pockets
But enough to get her home.

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