(Dubious at Best) Italian Sonnet

My girl is a better poet than me,
If you saw her naked you might not agree.
I have much more to be worried about,
All the more reason to whimper and shout:
The curve of my spine and a bended ring
finger (of my despair it signs and brings
imagined stares now that I have told you,
I call attention to myself, it's true.)

But I have the soul of a salad bowl.
Of a decade's toil, she took the toll,
I'm sorry honey, you grew up so hard
but look now look we have made it this far.
Come back with me it will be so easy
please and please and please and and please please me.

This is what all my poetry is for,
Oh honey, I live waiting at your door.