She, extreme in her nakedness, and I, 
Naked in my extremes, passed each other by 
And hardly noticed the position of ourselves. 
Her lover with his hopes in a pill box 
Spread my path with improvised rocks 
And left us to our indiscretions. 

Then there came the point of recognition 
And flat denial of the other's position. 
And a slamming door on someone's nose 
Who tried to prove that God only knows 
The situation as such. 

Which wasn't much, 
Except for our extremes. 

So on we marched each others retreat, 
Leaving ourselves alone in the street 
With nothing to do but cling to ourselves 
And a few ill mannered stones. 
But upon closer study it was revealed 
That we were the only ones unconcealed 
From the lightning storms 
And the wrath of love. 

But we found fig leaves to cover our extremes, 
And she wore hers well but it seems 
Mine looked odd on an irreparable mind, 
Which shocked us somewhat and for a while made us unkind 
To the care and feeding of our leaves. 

So I set to work and began removing the stones 
From the doorway and the walk, which 

Proved to be awkward in my position, 
And there grew in my extremes an inclination 
To cease. 

And stop. 

And carve a statue instead.