Jukebox Hearts

As I chat with a cool cat, I feel a breeze from long ago.
When he grinned and called me "doll," 
My wits went a-flying out the window.
His charm is a whisper that I won't ignore; 
He carries an aura that leaves me craving more.

Neon lights tint my cheeks as he strolls me to his car, 
A classic 57 Chevy, obsidian star. 
I didn't expect to be so smitten, outside a dirty bar.

With leather seats and cigar scents lingering in the air, 
I try to play it cool, but his heat isn't fair. 
James Dean flair, greaser with slicked-back hair, 
In a white tee and leather, and an ice blue stare.

My heart thumps like a jukebox spinning old beats, 
From Elvis to Buddy Holly, the rhythm's sweet. 
From a small joint, the jukebox brought the sound.
All the way to his ride, where we make out.
Or in his words, "back seat bingo" in a smoke cloud.

Rockin' at 2am, eyes and lighters flicker and ignite. 
Mouthing off The Man, while leaves sear under streetlights, 
Between sweet words, we exchange tobacco bouquets in the night, 
As the jukebox fades, my worries dissipate,
I fall asleep in his arms and in the freedom high.

- Cherish Cruz