in which Twitter inspires a poem

Heaven smells like
brown sugar and cinnamon,
Don’t you think?

And if it doesn’t,
what then?

It must smell like
fresh rain, then.
Or my grandmas’s kitchen
on a Saturday afternoon.

It could smell like a baby
after a warm bath,
part soap,
part lotion,
part angel.

Or firewood
on a cold night.

Salty air
at the beach.

A field of wildflowers
on a breezy day.

Heaven, I think,
will smell like home.