You will find my protagonist, the overdressed whore,
Wearing loose clothes, which she left at the bar,
Unless she came out wearing just knickers and bra.
She spins like a whirligig, twirling her head,
Whilst the lads, for a bet, will take her to bed.
She's the last resort, the three am vice,
If you've had a barren night, she will suffice.
You can see her every morning, walking back at eight,
A degraded reflection of an amorous night,
Panda-run eyes, stilettos in hand,
A false number on her arm, blurred and signed
"I should find out the name of the overdressed whore,"
I think, as she slips shyly out of my door
Tom Peel
Feedback appreciated
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