He woke up in New York City on Valentine's Day,
Speeding. The body in the booth next to his was still warm,
Was gone. He had bought her a sweater, a box of chocolate
Said her life wasn't working he looked stricken she said
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What I really want to say To you, my love, is a whisper on the rooftop lost in the wind And you turn to me with your rally cap on backwards rooting. a fine poem, Tony