You are a pure white ash, a scriven-hope,
skint tissue of a spotless note’s refrain,
vile virtue of my livid heart, profane
embedded vapor that I blindly grope!
Untinged caress reflects the sainted trope,
their hollow sound is sorrow’s purest pain...
if only I could bear divine disdain
for love, I would defile each hidden strope.
But even if my hand bare-sheets the void
and lightless violates your stainless sea,
you would deny, immaculate, enjoyed!
A curse, this ribald ink that bleeds to be
on you, white paper leaf, whom love annoyed...
so, lie pure-chaste and empty without me!
Cursed Ribald Ink - Petrarchan Sonnet
© Copyright: Мэтти Дубоис, 2011
Свидетельство о публикации №111010601288
Свидетельство о публикации №111010601288
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