I sing the body hydraulic. I sing the salted tears, the acrid urine, the whooshing, the oozing, the pumping, the plasma, the swollen hoses of veins and arteries, the sheets of synovial fluid cushioning cartilage, the bone-bound columns of spinal fluid washing bundles of nerves.

I sing the exudate and transudate, the rheum, the chyle, serum and semen, the breast milk, the bile, the amniotic fluid, the aqueous humor.

I sing the body drenched, viscid, dripping, dewy. I sing the body slippery, saturated, slick, soggy. I sing the body watery, liquid, clammy, fluid. I sing the body succulent, sopped, sultry, sodden.

I sing songs of saliva, colostrum concertos, lullabies of lymph and lubriciousness, cerebrospinal symphonies. I sing ancient oceans where our single-cell antecedents frolicked. I sing the body luscious. I sing the body hydraulic.

Bio: Roy Beckemeyer