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I should tell you to
Stop the well springing
From the corners of
Your heavy eyes
Running down the museum
Of your existence.

I should tell you
That the salt slipping
Slowly, will not
Sanitize or sweeten
The pinches you feel
On your heart.

But I would rather
You let it all out till
It dries and leaves
Paths for me to
Guide the sunshine
Back into
Your eyes.

So the rainbow
On your face
Shows itself
Again.

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