



Vous vous retenez ; vous regardez et c’est l’embrasement, elle aime votre odeur pendant que vous devenez fumée se levant dans le ciel et raconter que « ELLE » est flammes …
A brownish skin, she has, a golden brownish skin brunt by sun to burn the fingers of the one who dares to touch, red pepper, fully filled, full, Fillfill, with lust and temptation?
You stand; you look at her and blaze; she likes your smell as you become smoke rising in the
air and telling of her fires, as you become Bakhour, sweet smell of Bakhour spreading to tell of her lethal charms. A Berber girl, dark eyes, dark like coal, dark hair, dark like firewood ready to pull you in the world of inferno where your heart will be mash, mush like mush, mush mushy, Mechoui. I love Berber girls, hot girls.
Dark eyes, dark hair like Harkouss that disarm you and you fail to fight the smell and the lines, the eyebrows, tender lines they move to stop the beat of your heart.
Sweet Berber girls, sweet creature that makes you want more of her, sweetness dangling, digging-lagging like Degla. Her voice resembles the sound of drums that turns your heart into an ever-banging drum; a song that recalls the past, the stories of the bygone, civilisations, tales, and tales …
Yes, I love Berber girls, hot girls…
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