Don’t expect much. My poetic license was revoked for reckless rhyming. But, patting my own back I think my poetry is reminiscent of Homer. Unfortunately it’s Homer Simpson.

Being Payday I went to the Mars Bar
For a Valentines drink, perhaps a Bud. 
Instead of staying home, fiercely pounding my pud. 
Then I spotted her with ass wide as a car 

As a chubby chaser I loved her girth 
With a manly nod and smile that was fake
I bought her a jumbo chocolate milkshake 
My dick was smoldering like fiery scorched earth

At my booth she said she was a sex worker 
With the right man she could be quite randy 
But instead of cash she accepted only candy 
I quickly agreed to the terms of this porker 

She gave me a wet Kiss that did linger 
She rubbed her Mound against me. On a hunch 
I offered her an unwrapped Nestlé Crunch 
My dick now hard as a stale Butterfinger 

“I just banged Three Musketeers,” she divulged. 
“Being now messy allow me to clean up 
Then we can share a delicious Reese Cup” 
Her hand rested where my pants now bulged. 

“You’re no bigger than a Tootsie Roll, pop” 
She said with a wink and a cruel Snicker 
Her other hand buried deep in her knickers 
She laid out ground rules while eating a gumdrop

“My back door you cannot enter” said she as she plays
my cock beneath the table. The bar’s not palatial  
But in close confines I did give her a facial
Which only cost me a dozen Milky Ways

“But Twix my legs you may merrily frolic 
Tasting my creamy nougat center. Get your fill
Oh how my Kitkat purrs. Give me a break if you will”
All this delight for the cost of milk chocolate

Luring her to bed later with a Fifth Avenue
“Oh, Henry, fuck me harder,” she hisses
While choking on a bagful of Hershey Kisses 
Afterwards we did discuss her earned revenue

For emptying my balls her fee was small
All required was a Hershey bar collection
No Heath Bars to be found amongst the selection
Only Hersheys stacked over four-feet tall

She ate them all within an hour
Calories she did not eschew
A salad she did never chew
The empty wrappers made her dour

Toward marital bliss she gave me a nudge
A priest would be found, unaware the bride’s a whore
Of course we will also need a reinforced floor
For our reception we would serve a ton of homemade fudge

Our sweet relationship went on for weeks
Then she disappeared in air that’s thin
Oh, how I missed counting her each and every chin
Returning to the Mars Bar, answers I did seek 

 Asking her pimp who said all was copacetic 
Where oh where did my Baby Ruth go?
Who would dream of hurting my rotund ho
Then I got the news, my lover was hospitalized; Type A diabetic


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