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it was 4 in the morning when you found me. the city felt like a poem melting into the arms of her muse. you ask me, why do i refer poetry as a woman. and i  say how poetry is just another word for belongingness. for poems, like women, nurtures you lovingly till the day you just grow out of your home. the water flows down my shoulder as i hug my knees together watching you sit on my bathroom floor. running my fingers through my soaked spilt ends, i try to swallow this moment whole. the urge to call out your name, begging you to not walk out again overwhelms me. but as soon as i feel my throat vibrate, i look away. for poetry, like women, is just a shallow set of promise you make, till all i am left with is just faint echoes of your voice and the exit wounds you left behind.