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Here's a schema to use Anglo-Latin:
Not for spats, chew-the-fats, or curse "Shat!" in.
Lends a scholarly bent
To whatever you've meant;
You'll vent flatus, but never fall flat in.

It's a lingua that sports its regalia,
Like geranium and genitalia,
Fungi, fascia and foci,
Algae, loggia and loci,
And innum'rable others — et alia.

Matching fine, friendly facets to Latin,
Whose euphonious tones flow like satin.
A harmonious tweak:
Pick its peer, Anglo-Greek
For idyllically naming a frat in.

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You've discovered the Greek prefix dys-,
And discerned things have gone quite amiss:
There's dyslexic — can't read,
And dysphagic — can't feed,
And dysuric — too painful to piss.

"Dyspareunic? Not now", she asserts
(We're in bed, after eating desserts).
But the wrong kind of moan
Is invoked, and so (groan)
There's no 'cuddling' on nights when she hurts.

When non-random disorder attacks us,
Peccadilloes throw projects off-axis.
We'll not sit there and dither,
We'll get our sh*t tog*ther,
Or we'll suffer from dyscoprotaxis.

You'll encounter the Greek prefix eu-
Well or good, like the carpenter's "true";
Nothing hyper- or hypo-,
Not even a typo-
So, Eureka! There's nothing askew.

Euphemistic? We say diarrhea:
"What runs through", Ancient Greeks would agrrhea —
Details best left unsaid.
Now, when you're "out of bed",
Don't trot back to that same trattoria.

It's addictively frequent extrusion
Of short verses not void of confusion —
Three rhymes 'A', and two 'B'. Ah!
Could be called 'limerrhea',
For a lexicon lacking conclusion.

I give zeal and direction wide berth.
I prefer mild bemusement to mirth.
I abjure 'love' and 'loathe'
(Though at times I do both).
That's ambivalence - for what it's worth.