Cursed Ribald Ink - Petrarchan Sonnet

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!