Comparison Is A Flea

I'd wait by the shore for the tide to roar
To swash and backwash me with it's paw.
I'd go to sleep in the ocean's bed,
Have peaceful dreams, but wake up dead.
I wouldn't be able to care if you're grieved
For all my life I've lived bereaved
Mourning the gradual loss of me
From the bite of your lips; a comparison flea.
Now look me twice or thrice and more
There's only me I'm not in four.