The Wettest Sock

There is nothing wetter than you, wet sock.    
No simple saturation could ever match    
The overwhelming dampness of your body,    
And endless gushing of your squelchy soul.    
To me you are a heavy burden,    
Weighing down the left side of my being;    
But to those thirsty millions of men,    
Women, babes and all, across the dry dry sea,    
A year of rain you could provide    
If I were to ring thy footy neck.    
Oh this heavy sopping drip! A waterfall    
Is to thee as only a single tear    
To a giant with a thousand eyes and    
Thankfully no feet. No socks to hold    
The oceans of the world, for surely now    
There can be no more water on this earth    
That does not already fill the wholeness    
Of your breadth.
Even til the tippy toes    
You are monstrously watered.    
Monstrously watered, yet,    
How can this be so?    
I showered not too long ago, but pools    
Did somehow manifest invisibly and suddenly.  
Where? Why? The curtains surely all were closed,    
But you found wetness in the earth,    
No dusty clay could figure man    
If thine will was strong and hard.    
Alas, you are soft and squidgy;    
Gooey as the fusing surface of my feet.    
I am returning to the earth - worst foot forward,    
Step by step, you ooze your soppy salutations    
To the world you will destroy,
Starting with mine, til none is left    
But the right.