Advent of an Adjective

He, like a cooling ember.
Me, like morning fog
burning off/
getting off.
The syncrasy
was effortless
and chemistry,
timeless.
As for my
journey down
his everything;
I sink until I
can't breath,
until he can't breath.
Before I quite
on our exhale,
together we die
and oh we die,
again
and again
and again.  
Creating our
own vernacular
with our lips.
If he is lust
manifest,
I am love
womanifest.