Saving The Best Until Last Poem by Mark. A Heathcote

All your heart's music thus far was an overture.
It's a matinée, a prelude to what is the real affair.
It was a practice run, saving the best until last.
Your thoughts are transparent as the morning vapour.
Your love is priceless; soaking me right through.
Your voice is likened to a harmony with music midair.
I'm always waiting for you in the middle of a story…
waiting in the wings to open every chapter
I know you feel the same way by the way that you stare.
Your love is the vitality, I feel quickening my pulse.
You're scented like a musk rose, slightly pungent.
It's hypnotic to breathe the same languid air.
knowing these overtures are now finally finished
Our recitals of love are now set as the main event.
This was very pleasing to all the birds & bees.
Who'd second-guessed it, given to rapturous applause