Dear Polynesian Women,
One by one as you gracefully place the rainbows of intricately designed leis upon me, I lose sight of all surroundings and crash into the wall. Yet I feel the presence of your mana, enfolding me in an aura of exotic fragrances. Your delicate strokes are like the soothing strums of the ukulele. They release me from the imprisonment of missing your tender smiles.
Aloha, my darling coconut…! Growing faint to the kindest eyes, my heart melts into the consistency of poi and I’m gooey inside for our Honolulu romance. It is then that I empathize with Kilauea when you reveal your coco shells and my volcano prematurely erupts. Luminescent with an orange lava glow, I’m desperately finding ways to cool off.
Blue skies, palm trees, and a tropical breeze; the melodic sways of your Hula dance accentuate the soft curves of your exquisite nature, resembling the transparent twirls of the South Pacific. In you is where my sanctuary lies, in our secret ocean tunnel. I’m splashed back to reality with a gentle swoosh of your pineapple kiss, and my only desire is to surf into your affections with a perfect mind and technique.
It saddens me, when you think you’re nothing more than a commodity for lustful tourists from around the globe. But behind the scenes away from corny MCs, you’re the most unique flower with nectar sweeter than the pure elixir of sugarcane. You’re a bundle of goodness more delicious than laulau, and I’d wrap you up in ti leaves just to show how special you are.
As marmalade skies embraced by the crimson sunset envelop the marbled clouds, its radiance upon your flawless tan becomes a moment of serenity when you walk towards my way. Holding hands as we enter through the doors of the local SPAM restaurant, our fairytale adventures begin with platefuls of mystery meat. I hope you know I’d risk anything for your love, and even torture myself wearing Hawaiian T-shirts for the rest of my life.
Under the clearest night skies with the heavens watching over this sacred luau, the festival is ours when your eyes return to mine. Although I’m invulnerable to fire-walking, you continue to be in awe of my superpower, despite the stench of burning rubber wheels. You even know how to use chopsticks properly, and I’m yours.
Dear Polynesian Women, you might think these reasons are why I want to be with and marry you, and for fear of being made a sacrifice to the Big Kahuna if ever I broke your heart. My silly, delightful honeycreeper, you’re my Halemaumau crater and spiritual hotspot. As with the Hawaiian Islands that are isolated from the world, you alone are the only one I need.
Together, our romance shall blossom with more volcano eruptions and lava flows. Our ohana will continue to flourish with an abundance of little keikis, while we pass on the legend of our love for every new beginning to come.
Aloha…! Wait, didn’t I say that already? Then again, I never wanted to say goodbye, so let’s do this again, shall we?
And may the heavenly teardrops be a symbol of our never-ending tale, for you’re the Lehua to my Ohia, and even Pele can’t deny what we have. I’ll always meet you in paradise, in Laka Heiau.
Your Staying Haole,
Ricky (Traveller ID: 1981-05-20)