I Think She Will Call

I think she will call,
The pretty wahine of the night,
And take me to a land of nipples and belly rings
far beyond the quiet jungle
and the roaring blue oceans.

I think she will call,
And the sounds of orgasms and laughter
Will fill the lines,
the spill on her belly
The tilt of her hair,
and arched waist.

I think she will call
And repair this impossibly broken mind
That has humped steel and created robots
Diving into the darkest light,
Or the lightest noon sun.

I think she will call,
And the Land will become complicated again.
I will grow hard with her in my lap
And dance we will on this southern point,
That perfect wet moment,
When she calls.