I love the way the sun hits her tits
Her eyes bleed brown sugar
Her hair carries the aroma of oats and berries
And her punani tastes like peaches
She's a little ugly, but in a sexy horse-face kind of way
She treats me like Shiva
But she is indubitably low in the caste system and is worthy, only of mounting and nothing else
She is aware of her status and often asks that I make her noble with my yogurt offering
She performs a religious ceremony on my balls
It makes my dingaling feel like the star in an Indian music video
I drop my batch in her hatch
She refuses my cash
Only to learn
It's the Chinese girl's turn