I scratch away the black wax,
expose you in the bare copper beneath,
your breasts dipping
as you reach a jug into a pool of water.
I leave you in the back room of the workshop
overnight, in a deep bath of acid,
to deepen the lines,
so your curves will stand out.
I don’t come back to get you,
something keeps me away;
maybe I’m ashamed to bring you out,
to let you be seen.
I imagine someone finds you,
pushes you through the printing press.
Finally, you are revealed.