There’s a tidepool behind my heart,
small and silver in the evening's breath.
Not deep, but torn in every part
holding you close, keeping your death.

A cracked ring lies in the brine,
still warm with what we never said.
A memory flickers, out of time,
like candlelight around the bed.

***** click like clocks inside my chest,
marking hours I can’t reclaim.
Anemones bloom with soft unrest,
each one uncurling saying your name.

The tide recedes but leaves it all—
your cologne, your smirk, a Polaroid of our crowd.
A sea-star clings against the wall,
where everything we built has fallen down.

No current comes to pull it free,
this shallow grave of silent songs.
But I return religiously,
to worship where your ghost belongs.

So yeah,
the moon looks on forever marred,
but this is where I rot instead.
In the tidepool of a love too hard,
where nothing lives, but nothing's dead.