headchecks

I catch you staring at me in the locker room.
You're a shoe size 12 and a half,
but you're also a freshie and a half.

Your dark, shining, curls of hair
light eyes: blue or green? No clue.
You wear your hat high on your head.

I can't have this happen again,
I should know by now.
Romance always finds its end
in the locker room.

But my mind conjures up images—
vivid, lucid love.
I'm laying my head on your chest,
and we're each others' other half.