Midnite's Scent

O Marri’onne, ethereal wraith,
whose name drifts soft upon my brine-kissed lips,
you linger yet in the twilight of my being,
an echo folded into the shroud of the waves.
I, Kai of the abyssal depths, born of the sea’s mournful hymn,
sing now to you, my love, my ruin,
to the memory that binds me still,
to the scent of midnight where you once walked the shores.

Beneath the obsidian dome of a moonless sky,
I dwell, a shade tethered to salt-stung tides.
The sea, my cradle, my captor, whispers your name,
a dirge woven in threads of foam and lament.
Each crest rises with your visage,
each fall drowns me anew in your absence.
O love, why did you flee the mortal sands,
leaving only the scent of midnight,
haunting, immortal, upon the breath of the deep?

Was it the sea’s cruel envy that stole you from me,
or the frailty of flesh bound to fleeting time?
Your laughter, a melody etched in the marrow of stars,
now silenced, now adrift, a ghost borne by currents cold.
O Marri’onne, I search the fathoms for your touch,
but find only shadows, only the ache of what was.
The sea weeps with me, its waves my lament,
its depths my sanctuary,
its endless expanse the chasm of my heart.

Once, I held you, trembling as the wind's tender caress,
your eyes twin moons in the velvet dark,
reflecting a love too vast for mortal breath.
You called me your Kai, your eternal tide,
your keeper of seas and secrets,
yet I, bound to this briny eternity,
could not save you from time’s cruel grasp.
Now I am a prisoner of remembrance,
each ripple a memory, each gale your fading sigh.

Oh, if I could tear asunder the threads of the heavens,
halt the sun's relentless march to dawn,
I would weave a veil to shield your fleeting essence,
preserve the mortal fragility of your love.
But I am the sea’s wretched child,
forever parting shores, never to dwell,
never to know the warmth of your presence
save through the ghostly scent of midnight's hour.

Marri’onne, my midnight rose, my eternal ache,
the waves sing dirges in your name,
and I, their tragic bard, mourn in ceaseless tide.
The scent of midnight—of you—lingers still,
a phantom of love’s impermanence.
Should you hear my song,
let it cradle you in the folds of eternity,
where mortal and immortal meet in whispered tides.

For though I am bound to the sea,
and you, to the memory of time,
our love is the tempest that stirs the stars,
the scent of midnight,
the symphony of the endless deep.
O Marri’onne, my muse, my ruin—
remember me not as the sea's forlorn child,
but as the keeper of your essence,
the bearer of your immortal love.