Founding an Island Takes Atoll

My to-do list is lighter than I've seen it in years:
Pack for an islet; bring only one item.
Can I part with both my books and arrears,
my backpack and suitcase, my trophies and diadem?

Surely my girlfriend will object when I leave
with a laptop or textbook rather than her,
and Cherry will be disinclined to believe
that I'm sane when I tell her to donate my fur.

So what should I bring to make time here less dull?
There has to be something within my reach
that ameliorates my mood on this atoll
and brightens my weeks laying nude on the beach.

Of course you all know, and I grin just to think
of this magical, mystical thing in my head.
We know that without it, we can't catch a wink;
I'm talking, of course, about my beloved bed.

I'll sprint o'er this island, explore, pitch a tent,
then watch as the nearby tide retracts.
After I've run, built, climbed, and am spent,
Lord, give me a comfortable place to relax!

This poem is about: 
Me

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