Seclusion of a quaint kind

When would ‘I’ see blood, she asked?

Her grandma replied discerningly-

Wait patiently my child,

Why do you want to go through it already?

All of 14, she hadn’t a clue about what it meant;

Yet an experience, she dearly yearned for!

She now recalls that day and date, privately-

Many monthlies did pass by thus,

Oh yes, with all the accompanying physical and mental stress.

But, something she loved about its arrival-

She nursed a fetish that none would even think of-

Hers, was of a quaint kind;

A wonderful state of seclusion

With the sensation of hot blood

Oozing out of every vein

Every drop, leading to a creative gloom that loomed large:

A strange joy in pensive quietude ensues...

Yeah, how could she forget to nurse that sweet little pimple that emerged each time?!