An exercise with my shadow

Just a free write here...

My shadow's name is Jane. She likes to watch.

She hates the way I lay before him - much unlike a pretty flower
waiting to be plucked from the earth, carried away, and placed
in some little jar of water to rot.

No, Jane hates the way I lay before him, like a subject
inanimate without the predicate.

Jane hates me because I don't throw him to the ground
grab my destiny in my hands
Instead I wait for him to give it to me.
Jane thinks I'm just a slave
for his pleasure. She hates it
when his lips touch mine.
She hates it when he reaches
deep inside of me, how his tongue
passes through my hot lips. Jane
especially hates it when I wrap
my arms around his horizontal body,
and when I run my hands through
his musty manly hair. She hates
the feeling I get when he whispers
to me in my ear - the warmth between
us - she tells me its just sex and that I'm nothing
but his cheaply bought whore.
But when I'm feeling his breath
steaming on my neck - I don't hear her. I close
my eyes so I don't see her -
but she still watches me as I wait
for him to reach just a little further into my existance
and when he finally touches- with one motion -
Jane looks away.
She doesn't see my eyelids
wrinkle, my body shiver. No,
She can't watch because by now
its too late. I'm already his and my shadow
disappears somewhere into the moonlight.
I don't see her again until long after
he's kissed my forehead and held me
into the morning's virgin hours.