Her name was Taloose.
What an abominable sight!
Sheer mesh dress, dusky lip
and only 100 gold for the night.

She was hired for you,
but then the gazelle leapt in,
and you preferred horns
to her growling stomach whims.

She didn't take it well,
she cursed and bristled.
She wanted to poke holes in you,
and make parts of you whistle.

I bought her a consolation drink
and she ate the tumbler too.
She sat there munching a barstool
and I wasn't sure what to do.

There's a river shack in Delos
where harlots oft work nights
so I flew her there and fled
before she offered me her pipe.

I know things have been rough
and you're feeling rather bleak,
but whores are not the answer, dear.
They're walking, talking streaks

of disease and hybrid virus
and your body's been through enough!
Stay away from that Delos shanty
and the Taloose, the Humgii of tough love!

Penned by my hand on the 12th of Valnuary, in the year 608 AF.