That air

I live,
Breathing this air,
The air that my skin approves of,
The air that my senses collude with,
The air that tranquilises my mind,
The air that your voice enlivens,
The air that is charged by your mere presence,
The air that carries your characteristic odour,
The air that diffuses your image,
The air that ferries our thoughts,
The air that our cords mould into cryptic words,
The air that welds us together,
The air that our lungs share,
The air we are unaware of,
The air called intimacy.

Acceptance

Those were just random noises,
Unorchestrated beats,
Unintelligible chords,
Misplaced emotions,
That strained my brain,
It was nothing I would call music.
My ears were permissive,
My brain tolerant,
For a while,
For as long as it took,
For the noises to become sounds,
For the beats to become rhythm,
For the chords to  melodise,
For the music to take shape,
The shape called 'you'.


Did the music grow on me,
Or was it mere habituation,
That I heard what I heard,
And visualised what I did visualise?
Reasons don't matter,
As long as the music's being played.