The Hug

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It was your birthday, we had drunk and dined
  Half of the night with our old friend
  Who'd showed us in the end
  To a bed I reached in one drunk stride.
  Already I lay snug,
And drowsy with the wine dozed on one side.

I dozed, I slept. My sleep broke on a hug,
  Suddenly, from behind,
In which the full lengths of our bodies pressed:
  Your instep to my heel,
  My shoulder-blades against your chest.
  It was not sex, but I could feel
  The whole strength of your body set,
  Or braced, to mine,
  And locking me to you
  As if we were still twenty-two
  When our grand passion had not yet
  Become familial.
  My quick sleep had deleted all
  Of intervening time and place.
  I only knew
The stay of your secure firm dry embrace.

© Thom Gunn