NOTE: Since about 1982 the soft, soothing sounds of the ocean have been by friend and have lured me to sleep with the help of my trusty CD player. In a former relationship, after a date, my lover and I would kiss goodnight and the last thing I would say to her was, "See you at the beach." She knew that once I arrived home and my head hit the pillow I would go to my island for an imaginary rendezvous with her. The following poem describes my special island where my lover and I would meet. The link to "At the Beach... Alone Again" at the bottom of this page cronicles the completion of the relationship. - Larry James

I go to bed alone and close my eyes.

I hear the sound of the sea crashing against the rocks, then experience the momentary quiet as the ocean waves return to the open sea only to come crashing against the rocks again moments later.

I love the smell of the ocean. And when I sit on the rocks, I love the touch of the waves rolling over me.

I've been coming here to my private little island for many years now.

Always alone.

Before you - while waiting for your beautiful brown eyes to find me - I designed a sand castle or two by the seashore, skipped flat stones on the water by the brook in the meadow, and threw driftwood back to the sea.

I thought about someday having you here with me. And I didn't know who you were.

Once, I scribbled words of desperation on a piece of paper. I stuffed it into a bottle, then threw it into the sea. "Please God, send someone who loves me and someone I can love! Whoever finds this, I love you!"

Then, there you were.

Like some new flower, beautiful and ready to be picked.

And, oh, how I loved you.

"It's our first night on the beach together. Take a chance on me. Lie down and leave your imprint in the sand, right there, beside mine."

Two imprints in the sand where there was once only one; far enough from the shore so high tide could not disturb the memory of our being there together.

I can see your beautiful body on pure white sand, laying next to me. This island's population is but two. This beach belongs only to me and you.

I remember being locked in passionate embrace, counting out the stars together.

A cozy fire of driftwood, from wood we gathered while hunting coconuts, gave us warmth as we fell asleep in each others arms; the sounds of the sea our lullaby.

Best friends and lovers.

From now to forever. . . together.

Ours is a love that knows no boundaries.

This morning we'll wade along the shoreline, make love again and count some more stars tonight.

I love to watch you brush the white sand from your cute little behind. I love the sand and I love you.

When we are together we often cling to each other as the sand to your body.

We love to run, holding hands, along the water's edge. We play. We love and spend time digging clams and just being together.

Occasionally we pause to rest by sitting on a small weather-beaten boat, once turned upside down and now long forgotten by its skipper. Nearby, one solitary oar points westerly, buried partially in the sand.