Because she goes so well with blueberry crumble cake

A sonnet I had to write in imitation of John Donne (at one point there was a "nay!" in it that soon became deleted).

Revive my sputtering heart, you the icèd
Grandè no whip skim vanilla lattè
Whose steaming non-fat sip is why I pay
The starry labor bucks of the overpricèd.
For I, who dallied foul with white mocha,
And lay with the double-blended extra hot
Spices of Chai, have false tastebuds not
To sample Tazo juices’ berry flava,
When “The regular, please”— ever tempting
With her seasonal fits of pumpkin or
(Dare I say?) gingerbread—burns in my core
And Esophagus? My love is too strong
To taste the sweets of another drink,
Or of another flavor shot to think.

That last chiasmus was hell.
In other words, I really like grande skim vanilla lattes (but I lied about the whip).