Coming straight to you (i.e. minus sufficient editing) from a mind that should have been sleeping. You're welcome...
The land descended into the sea like a flight of stairs. Coloured buildings decorated every corner and crevice of the decline. On the bottom step stood a lighthouse, its keen eye blinking at the waves. Brush-stroke clouds crossed the sky like a watermark as the sun dipped her face to drink from the cup of the horizon.
Gulls called on the air and the ocean swished like a woman's petticoats. It was as frothy as petticoats too, where it tickled the land. Far out past the lighthouse, past the spit of rock on the opposite side, a buoy bobbed on the waves. Now and again the light breeze went out to fetch its lazy jingle and ferry it back to the coastline.
Between the shore and the cliff was a sickle of sand and on it sat a couple, slotted together like pieces in a puzzle, arms entwined, fingers interlaced, cheeks pressed together. At times they whispered, at times they laughed. Sometimes they nuzzled, but mostly they just watched the sun set, comfortable in silence.
Craggy but moulded smooth as plastic by the elements, the cliff climbed above their heads, and from somewhere up there came the smell of fresh-baked bread and half-baked fruit. From up there too, church bells sang a song - a happy song, thank God.