(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...