Supernature

Imagine a chocolate-covered cherry apertif, the kind that is cream and liquor-filled. The chocolate, it can be either milk or dark, whatever you prefer (but really, it's wonderfully sweet dark chocolate).

Imagine this chocolate-covered cherry and liqueur-filled confection isn't the usual titillating, sensually negro-shaded nipple-shape in which it usually appears; imagine this typically tasty treat is in the shape of a voluptuous goth goddess, the kind you're confident - nay, you're nigh on preaching faith - has plenty going on beneath her folds of silken black, as much as she's got going on behind her sharp, clever eyes.

You touch its darkly-smoothness and feel the sticky on your flesh as your fingers lift away sweetness with a hot hand. You gaze at it and see your fingerprints there, melted into chocolate so chocolate it is almost ruby.

Let's just face it - who are we kidding here - we both know exactly which part we are just aching to eat first, to sniff until our sinuses are drunk on thick cocoa, to lick until, until, until she's melted, and the cream inside flows forth, glazed with her intoxicating liquor. Somewhere inside rests the cherry, and the only thing separating it from you is just how much you love this confection.

This confection, let's face it, is nigh on irresisitible - the only reason you have not yet eaten it is because you know there is no way in hell anything such as this will ever exist again.

Lucky for you, this is just a review of the Goldfrapp album "Supernature," and you can listen to it as often as you like.

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