The Five Senses of Seduction

I see the way you swagger towards me,
oblivious to my disdain.
I hear the words, “I wanna fuck ya, Babe…”
as I wince in abject pain.
Your cheap aftershave is vile -
an affront to my sense of smell.
If you think you’re touching me, loser,
it’ll be a cold day in Hell!
I would rather drink a bottle of bile,
than taste your septic kiss,
so i’m sorry, Mr Smooth,
but I’ll give this one a miss.