The fog spread like peach jam
overtop the overpasses.

Deep inhalations
held in our tired palms
as we watched exit signs
pass by
and marked each mile
we could no longer turn back
further.

A colony of sparkling starlets
lay a glow on the dashboard.

A small slip of fumbling thumbs  
or perhaps a trip
in the wrong direction
sent me backwards
a tipsy turn
or subconscious fear of directions.

But soon,
she found herself trapped
between diluted affections
and a car headed fast
in but one direction.