And Your Name Poem by James McLain

It is early 'Monday afternoon,
and there your left over steak
from the night before, out on the grill.
Sunday night, she ate, he slept,
'O' 'dear' oh no, not asking why again?
Don't all these roses that i kiss, rouse you up,
i won't, swell at all.
i will say it all again, goodnight and gently, pushing
you back into that small southern town.
A few last kisses around it and you're covered now?
My darling; one last graze off in the meadow
green and you and please let your final dream be
of a man, not quite your size, losing the whole
world, but still here combing, ever combing over
singing out your little secret.
it's name till the night is gone, and your name?