You discover me one night
emmeshed in white cotton seas
a lone isle.
You, trusting the stars
intuitively and foolishly
like a Mariner of old.
First you chart my every contour,
every ridge, cliff, overhang
Your hands swiftly yet firmly
mapping every nook and cranny.
Then you disembark
and scale my peaks
discovering treasures I've once so hidden
Now, I offer out to you.
As you grow weary
you pitch camp
and sleep soundlessly
upon my bosom.
And though you may leave
at the crack of dawn
to seek out other lone isles
with the stars as your guides
I know you'll return to me
home
a lone isle in these seas of cotton.
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