She asked me why I insisted on existing as an island,
why I felt so frosty when she held me,
why I had to be born as the daughter of the lonely sea.
I could see her frustration,
see her point and her many objections to all the boundaries and barriers I had blessed between us.
No man is an island, but I am no man.
Maybe I’ll build her a ferry.
My lover, were you made for seafaring?
Shall I raise the Terror or the Titanic to carry you across my worrisome waters?
Or, could my love cause a collapse in myself?
Could my island cascade into the waves,
free for her to dive into?
I want you close.
Won’t you be my favourite tourist?