Snow White's Pointed Inquiry

The russet needle she plucks.
Thoroughly avoiding the obvious bloom.
Wilted petals litter the ground,
As she takes the thorny cutlass.

Her clothes she lets to the floor,
And slips- cool naked to the window.
The dark thorn she presses to her thumb,
Very lightly to savor the tempting pleasure.

Up to her throat, milky and vulnerable,
She draws a curving line of love.
A gasp escapes her lips as ruby droplets bead;
Her breath is ecstasy, her tears are joy.

Vermillion coats the icy window's pane,
As rose's saber catches on tender bosom.
Flesh coils and stiffens, burns with hot sensation;
Paints pleasurable pain on palest breast.

While one hand guides the sharpened vessel,
Other digits rest in hollowed nook;
Stroking in time with thorny vine,
Bringing her shallow breath and moan.

With quickened pace the weapon drags,
wielded over most tender inner thigh.
Wanton mewls escape her throat,
To her knees she falls in desperation.

Sparks of eloquent pleasure spike her through;
As she wounds, with thorn, her core.
Brilliant flash and then release.
And out her blood tinctured pane she sees...snow.