Our ghosts haunt me at the creek

Self-control gave control to self
and the water kept running out of our hands
toward the Gulf.
Five minutes flowing to fifteen, never ending. . . .
toward the engulf.
Creativity of physical intimacy flows–
Running out of ideas, I run my hands over
your body and soul,
eyes closed, mind open,
claiming a place.
Tipping over forgetting the sun,
All senses lost,
blurred eyes of a lover
focused on you.
I cannot hear time running over rocky riverbeds:
Our ghosts haunt me at the creek.