The boy

 who will get my love,

will quit 
trying

to catch 
this heart

that I dangle

and drag.

He won’t
just 
kind of

reach for it,

bend to it,

seek for it.
Nope,
he’ll just know how to

tend to it.

He’ll simply notice it such,
covered in smudge,
being drug through the grass,
protected by ‘sass’
He won’t be timid,
won’t need gimmicks,
He'll just stomp it hard

with the heel

of his shoe

and It’ll
 knock
 me
flat

And well,
that’ll be that!

~j~