Self-Love

SELF-LOVE (Poem in eleven 12-line nonosyllabic stanzas)
By Norma Jane
1
I twirl round twice in the looking-glass,
Checking contours of bosom and arse.
Decorously dressed in crisp white shirt
And knee-length well-fitting pleated skirt,
My stay-ups are smooth above my pumps,
No panty-lines or suspender bumps.
Shampooed and showered, I’m clean and neat,
From shining hair to pedicured feet.
My silken undies are nice and tight,
My bra is lacy, pleasantly light,
My knickers cling close around my cheeks,
A tampon prevents premature leaks.
2
Now I am ready to watch the scene.
The mirror becomes my porno screen.
My left hand creeps up under my hem.
My voice says, ‘No, you mustn’t touch them.’
I answer, ‘But, please, let me just touch,
You know I want to so very much.’
My right hand pushes away the left,
Leaving me feeling forlorn, bereft.
‘But I could give you such joy,’ I say,
‘You know you loved it the other day.’
‘Well, yes, so what have you in mind?’
I answer, ‘What d’you expect to find?’
3
‘I want to caress your swelling tit,
Nipping the nipple to harden it.
To fret and frig your sensitive clit,
Running my digits along your slit,
Ease open the fleshy folds to split
Your lips, plunge in your vaginal pit,
Flexing the fingers inside to hit
Your grafenberg spot, finally flit
Up to your inmost limit, to sit
At your cervix and use all my wit
To induce the ecstasy and knit
Your net of nerves in orgasmic fit.’
4
‘All right,’ I tell my image, ‘Let’s go.
I’m in your hands, but, please, make it slow,
And let me watch it, give me a show.
What comes first?’ She says, ‘Come on, you know.
I take off the shoes to clear the way,
For the point the knickers are in play.
Now I stand and reach round to unzip
That skirt. Underneath a silken slip.
Now unbutton the shirt. Off it goes!
Next I think that I’ll peel down the hose.
Oh, the thighs feel that with a quiver.
Touching the panties makes you shiver.
5
‘That’s a pretty bra, and lovely cleaving
Of breast to breast, but no leaving
Those till later. For I must disrobe
And draw the cup from each glorious globe.
Oh, look at those hardening tips,
Those erecting reddening nips.
But the curtain of the slip must rise
To reveal the wonder of the thighs.
And; now we reach the final curtain,
The knickers within which are certain
Centres of paradisal pleasure,
And ecstasies beyond all measure.’

6
I pause before I bring into sight
The cushions of joy, seat of delight.
For I turn her round, so in the glass
I can marvel at that lovely arse.
Now that almost every inch is bared,
And mirror woman and I have shared
Most of the secrets of my body,
We’re agreed they are not so shoddy.
Thus we continue to the next phase,
Linked in visual possessive gaze,
Mutually ogling each crease and curl,
Preparing to make our senses swirl.
7
We turn and bend to look through our thighs,
Relishing with our voyeuring eyes,
Those cute cushiony bottomy rounds,
Selectively shaped to perfect rounds,
Where the frenulum forms the fourchette,
The labial slit vertically set,
Hiding secrets a little while yet.
For now we straighten and pirouette
To cradle and cup our buxom breasts,
Trigging and teasing their fluted crests,
Watching the areolas pucker,
Craving the suckling of a sucker.
8
We heft our mammaries, bend and lick
Around our nipples, slither and slick
Our thumbs across their hardening nubs,
Bringing the tingling behind our bubs.
Now I sink onto my couch and splay
My lower limbs wide, fully display
Pudenda, pussy, labial purse.
She mimics me, ready to rehearse
In concert every move, every tweak,
Each caress in crack, on bummy cheek.
Minge in the mirror drives my desire.
Image and I are fully afire.
9
But first we must pull out the tampon.
I cut the string, so fingers clamp on
Its end and out it comes, the damp on
It shining and scented to stamp on
The nostrils quintessence of quim,
Though the secretions have still to brim.
Now there can be no more lingering,
Now we start serious fingering.
Right hand glissandos glutinous groove,
Left makes its masturbatory move,
Finger-tip homes in against the hood
As clit erects in the ferny wood.
10
The sight of my double drives me wild.
Visually we are reconciled,
Twins doubly aroused, doubly beguiled,
Two women watching each other wank,
Both of us reaching under a flank,
To delve with digits into her fud,
Squelching, swimming the slippery flood,
Bringing to bloom the clitoral bud
Tight-swollen hard with tumescent blood.
Wrist wedged into wet buttock-chasm.
We surf each shudder, judder and spasm.
Sharing the sweet onset of orgasm.

11
I watch the ballooning of her breast,
Watch her stroking her feathery nest,
Edging her clitty into extremes,
Wondering whose are those joyful screams.
Someone is calling, ‘Coming now, come!’
And, ‘Yes, get a finger up your bum!’
And, ‘Can you feel your cunt convulsing
Can you feel your clitoris pulsing?’
Then the woman can no longer speak,
Because her climax reaches its peak,
She squirms and writhes in exaltation,
Then writes this verse in celebration.