Tornado Alley

If a tornado takes the ceiling, what will that dark intruder see? The cloud of freckles above Sarah’s knee, the blonde slip that tugs at her thigh. She tells me she has never been naked in front of a boy, a cyclone of timidity and inaction. The air is vague and clouded, like the aftermath of an argument. A cold wind blows through me as I cross the street for a candy bar and a coffee. I let the chocolate melt between my fingers and search for images of the funnel that threatened to destroy us with its touch.