Journey to the Center of Her Clit

I wrap my cycloptic astronaut  
In his protective helmet
As he penetrates these cavern walls
In search of this thing
Scientists call “the clit”
 
It is a perilous mission
Wrought with many dangers
We are beset by crabs  
And thoughts about my mom
But we stand up straight
And plunge ever forward
In search of this thing
The scholars call “the clit”
 
In years past
I thought I found it  
But was informed later I had not
That’s not it
That’s my ass
Etc etc  
 
But I will have to trust my instincts  
As I cannot confirm it
One way or another  
For this a secret mission
An archaeologist of love
I’ve become
While she gently slumbers  
 
If I do not find the clit
She will be angry, and rightfully so
But if I discover that rare jewel
She will immediately be transported
To pleasure town
 
I haven’t much time, dear friends
Wish me luck
The clit is elusive
And mysterious  
As Love itself