(A friend's uncle once asked why there weren't any poems about Mars Bars. This is why.) <br /> <br />Nails glinting in the glow of candlelight, <br />she grips the bar and gently pulls apart <br />the waxy coal-black petals that surround <br />the glossy round intoxicating end. <br />Her fingers' friction pulls the wrapper down: <br />the rigid rough-cast bar appears erect; <br />the chocolate delight now in her hand <br />moves closer to the parted scarlet lips, <br />left shining by her moistened tongue-tip's trail. <br />Her mouth encompasses the firm dark girth <br />and feels it turn to liquid on her tongue; <br />withdrawing it, a sticky trickle tries <br />to crawl towards her chin, but tries in vain, <br />tamed by her tongue, which coaxes it inside. <br />She swallows, smiles, and sighs - she's satisfied: <br />as theobromine pulses through her veins <br />the joy's not over - half the bar remains...<br /><br />Wild Bill Balding<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-mars-bar/
