Three hugs

The first hug, all spike and prickle and the bicycle between us to give me room from him and the echo of regrets dogging my wheels on the way to work.

The second not even a hug, but a hand offered over my shoulder and an irritation. Just a quick grab of my hand, a shake for politeness, but you hold my fist in yours and you squeeze it and you are drunk but you hold my fingers as if it were all of me and suddenly it is a hug, this little moment of extreme contact. Suddenly, with my back to you and the cab driver and someone else in the cab with us, it is an intimacy that could make me uncomfortable. You have rescued me from the inevitable dissatisfaction with this gesture.

Third is the easy way we pressed sweat to sweat and I knew that this was a lasting thing from the casual way we said 'see you later' and the nice sweet smell of you in my clothes. The smell on my couch, the smell of you and my fondness surpassing the possibility of sex that is in the air between every one of us if you think about it carefully enough.

These three hugs and more. Please more. Each one easier than the one before. Multiples of three. And all the love that we grow with each little press of the flesh.