Xmas love sonnet! Steel your gag reflexes!

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No windy cage of words for you, no art.
Crabbed text can’t play a painter (nor can I!):
A camera’s oily wink blinks light apart
and breeds distressing siblings in its eye;
a static sculpture never sparks with subtle wit
while life’s lithe dance is stalled on rooted feet,
and honest hearts will make no rhythm fit
to bloat a lovesong’s self-obsessive beat.
O’er you no artist gloats his mastery;
reality has dressed you to the best.
Let love clothe you in happy memory—
as all love you who know you, that’s surest.
This jewel, more choice than any in the earth,
shines best untrimmed—no setting fits your worth.