even though you are my first, (my one and only,) greatest love,

even though you are my first, (my one and only,) greatest love,
so easily can I completely disagree with you;
such poetry then came from you, saying, suffering,
“suffering is the choice”, that pain cannot.
but it’s as I say, there is a gain in the latter,
whilst the former does not actually imply hurt—
say suffrage is the etymon, meaning the heart,
like my own one for you beating, meeting
every chance to see you, rise to power, the hour is nigh.
though I flex my wit as I see fit for you, I know
in truth we are but one at once, then and now;
flying high—we’re convoluted but unpolluted when we know why:
a word is truly a world, with night and day on either side;
we’re so celestial yet terrestrial in these borrowed, fated bodies,
but with a breath (we breathe) we are eternal-ever-alive—
(I) strive to see, to hold, to earn these eyes—