About a Poem and a Boy

Task: write a sonnet.

You loved the drunken stride from there to bed.
You told me so when you had read line four.
I loved ‘my shoulder-blades against your chest’,
the way it subtly spoke of so much more.
I know you’d favour that, too, if I asked.
I’d easily explain and make you see
of all the lines the poet here amassed
we’re most clearly defined by these lines three:
the first is how a sleep broke on a hug;
the length of bodies pressed is number two;
the third one speaks of a grand passion, but
I’d swear ours felt familiar, wouldn’t you?
A future set and signed by cupping feet
and hearts that pound increasingly offbeat.