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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;
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!