He greets you with an overthought handshake-
Not too firm but never dainty.
The basketball player, the preppy blonde boy,
the one that reminds her of you.

You immeadiately develop a distaste for him
as he curls his fingers around
your daughter’s hip bone affectionately.
His blue, his green, his grey eyes
twinkling with the pride of holding this beautiful girl-
Your beautiful girl.

She’s eleven. She’s too young.
She’s fifteen. She tells you, “I hate you.” She tells him, “I love you.”
She’s eighteen. She spends her only time away from college with him.
Away from dear old dad.

She’s grown.
She loves you.
but not like she loves him.
And isn’t it true?
because she loves you like no other.
She loves you with all she is