Pity the poor body—

It suffers and ages

While piloting us through this life

As only a body can

Until it dies and must endure the

Degradation and humiliation

Of the grave

Tortured with the corrosive fire of decay

Until what beauty it ever possessed 

Becomes broken bits of bone

We exalt the spirit and desire the formless

But when we ascend to such state

Will we not miss the eyebeams of love

And the touch of lips in our first kiss?