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You're My Beverly
Oh you, kid,
you tempest divine.
I withstood you;
I withstand you.
I am your foil to end.
So say you,
she who has lied:
constant and fully,
in the face of a friend.
Despite your
confessed feelings,
you answer me only
with a cold palm
that shoves at me slightly
and sets me alight.
Albeit completely,
your weak sort of love
will not sustain,
will not find ground.
And our structures fall,
and things meet odd conclusions.
