Saints stumble into heaven in a daze;

wide-eyed, tender things,

with no wings and sun-kissed faces.

I stumble into your bedroom

just as dazedly, just as hopeful.

In heaven, the sun is everywhere.

In your natural habitat,

I can have a taste of you in the air.

In the dirty clothes thrown on a chair,

in the way you pile your video games,

in the dust covering a Geometry book.

Those saints may have Gabriel

playing the bass for their arrival,

but I have your the Smiths playlist

going on and on forever

until I can see you in the lyrics.

Saints sing back, choir-rock sweet,

and I sing with you,

because we’re free in your bedroom.

Isadora Azevedo is a fifteen year old poet, born and raised in Fortaleza, Brazil. She likes to explore girlhood, her nationality and love of all kinds.