Oh, love me not

Oh, love me not to the brim of your heart.
What fool can deny love's semblance to art?
Love me as a connoisseur sips fine wine
Lest your sweet blue eyes turn two lakes of brine.

Birds have no pockets

Birds have no pockets, or hands.
Flight measures light, as gravity weight.
The fill of the oil lamps in wait for
The bridegroom is for the ground bound,
Dust-shrouded spirits of prudence.