1.  The Smell of Darkness

   By Ronita Sinha

   I wait by the water

   while with lewd longing

   the panting river heaves towards the seas.

   A young dusk with smoky eyes

   licks her lips

   at the last shreds of sunlight

   winking in the pear trees.

   The red wind gasps in my heart

   in unbearable delight

   yet

   I smell the darkness

   even before its night

   and seek the moon among the branches.

   Clouds

   like beer-bellies of lustful men

   ravage the moonbeams

   till they lie at my feet amongst the ashes

                of shattered dreams.

2. Longing

   By Cat Zablocki

   They sit before me, perfect and pert, luscious and round. I reach trembling fingers to touch one, then withdraw, embarrassed, knowing I shouldn’t. Someone reaches past me, greedy, without inhibition, grabbing at one, squeezing, mauling.

   I watch with distaste, but desire is rising within me, palpable, undeniable.

   And in the end, I give in, reaching out again, taking hold with care, satisfied I am maintaining a dignified approach. The softness yields to my touch. I savour it, moving to gently greet it with my mouth, touching the sweetness to my lips, succumbing.

   Tomorrow I will abstain. But today; cake.

3. The Longest Walk

   By Nicki Blake

   you drive me home

   I ask you in

   we leave the car

   and as we walk

   the front door of my house

   seems suddenly too far

   hand in impatient hand

   we tread the endless path

   then scale the towering heights

   of three porch steps

   to reach the threshold

   where yet more delay awaits

   I fumble through my keys

   of course it is the last one

   that unlocks the door

   we stumble in

   forget the lights

   we can’t wait anymore

   and in the quiet darkness

   of the entrance hall

   we grasp each other

   tear at clothing

   crash against the wall

4. The Other Side

   By Lauren Wesley-Smith

   Let me out, cries Lust, I’m not the sin you think I am –

   For lust, alone, is not so very deadly.

   You think me love’s worst enemy, blind to how we court and mingle.

   Let me back to the Erotica shelves, thrilling my avid readers.

   These women delight in lust, yet few will force themselves upon another.

   Men, you say, are sorely tempted through my power – but no, it takes much more than that:

   It takes greed and wrathful hate, to break a soul by force.

   You condemn me, but I am just the other side

   Of love’s golden coin.

5. Tomorrow

   By Amanda Hurley

   It’s the scent of her that lingers, long after he’s changed the sheets, remade the bed. Thrown the window wide open. Until he realises it’s him that’s carrying her fragrance, she’s still there on his body, impregnated in every pore.

   At first, he’d been shy with her, timid really. Now when he touches her back, it’s as if her skin is making way for his fingers so he can burrow inside, stir her to the bone. 

   He thinks of tomorrow, the ring of his doorbell, the knowledge of her shape standing behind the door, deciding whether to risk him again.

6. Naval Visit

   By Ruth Barber

   They came early

   We hadn’t seen seamen for months.

   “Are you coming?”

   They picked us up at the front for an experience on the boat.

   “Do you want to ride out on the rubber or would you prefer a tug?”

    

   We climbed the pole and pulled the bells

   Explored the back passages and swung on the rigging

   Put our fingers in the hatches

   The flag was hoisted

   The torpedo tubes opened

   The cannon fired suddenly

    

   There were fireworks with golden showers, then

    The red shiny bow of the boat pulled out into the harbour.

    

   A good day? Possibly rash

7. In the Rough

   By Megan Anderson

   You’re coaching: ‘Head down, follow through.’ I’m not listening. I’m picturing the buggy locker, the clubhouse storeroom, that thicket on the ninth fairway. I’m feeling your hands, warm around mine around the shaft. Your zipper teasing my buttocks, forearms skimming my waist, breath on my nape. We backswing together, peaking high and slow.

   I was club champion for a decade; the lessons are a ploy. It’s your flesh I want. I’d been asleep for years – midlife loins sluggish, appetite nowhere – when you showed up with your crisp polos and lazy smile, smelling of grass and leather. Now I’m hungry.

8. The Plaza of Forgotten Things

   By Sally Tate

   Midday, crickets buzzing in the square,

   the heat drifts into trickling dreams,

   crusts the snores from hazy rooms,

   twelve bells, drag us slowly into noon,

   but here a table stands, chairs slant sharp away,

   two glasses fizz to tepid flat,

   through cloudy prints of sweat and lips,

   hibiscus stains bloom bright on hot white cloth,

   and on the dusty ground,

   a torn receipt still rustles,

   lists soft delicacies of love,

   the minutes heaped on dripping plates,

   or here, now lost with winter glove,

   and earring bleeding into rust,

   with broken heel and shredded lace,

   in shade, I watch, forgotten.

The group chose ‘In the Rough’ as their favourite. Congratulations to Megan Anderson!