Curious

Curious. How we view ourselves, while on the slab we lie Knowing forever shut, earthly windows, our eyes Modesty behind us now, embarrassment we don't feel Our flesh, we don't cringe away, from the frigid stainless steel To look with no emotion, incisions, from the autopsy knife Every muscle utterly still, relaxed as never in life No blood to rush a blush, our cheeks a pallid waxy grey Lividity of our skin, shows how in death we'd lain Enevitably we will be reduced to a dusty grime Either by an uncaring fire, or the mercy of time