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ʻAuhea ʻoe e ka ipo lei momi, lā ē |
Where are you, O precious pearl
wreath, Glowing enticingly in the dark of night? Turn to me and touch my nose, Don't rush, though, or all will be lost. Hands grope until the sweet spot is found, As the sharp beak prods back and forth beneath the swaying covers The skin is rubbed until it is soaked And we grunt until there is no more breath Tell the story But be quiet lest the birds awaken |
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