ode to the womens bathroom in the student union

Oh silent space like a confessional;
Shushing whir of wire fans soothes me, smooths the kinks in my buzzing caffienated sleep deprived brain.
I long to linger before your endless banks of empty clean white sinks.
I Sing of your cool slick tile floors, never tainted with ravening hordes of having-to-pee girls;
your vast unfolding rows of empty stalls, where silence and privacy is tempered with hastily scrawled messages on chalkboards where others akin to me let drift the detritus of dreams,
or simply pee.
Setting aside effortless, like automatic flush of toilets and flow of sinks, the bustle and stir of leaving a warm bed for an 8am class.
I am called by your calm quiet to stand before stretches of silvered mirrors applying lipgloss, fucking with my hemline and hair.