Alone.

On an island.

The salty ocean breeze hits my face. 

My lips, so dry, have started to crack.

"Enough." I say.

"This breeze is too much for my lips

to bear. 

...too bare...

I must give them tender loving care."

I check all my pockets and finally find:

my lip-balm.

I will now sit and wait to be rescued,

but without a qualm;

for I now know that I have

my lip-balm.