Petrarch

Some Italian bloke

O, Petrarch, your caramel ganache cream

Surrounded by milk choc'late, and inlaid

With jeweléd pralines, that from nuts are made

Dissolves in mouths as softly as a dream.

The taste, enough to make young females scream,

Their bosoms heave, their inhibitions fade.

It fills their minds with thoughts of getting laid;

Their cheeks flush red, their eyes begin to gleam.

The fine taste that my torrid tongue engaged,

Enraptured all my sweet taste buds to bloat.

I grinned as pleasure flowed throughout my brain,

and yet, whene'er I've read your verse, I've raged!

I wish that you had ne'er a sonnet wrote,

For writing this has driven me insane!