If my relationship with Jesus is as important as I say it is, I imagine a moment of prayer in which I sit with Him to discuss our relationship.
Your scent smothers mein a wet blanket of carcinogens.
Your image I would never imitate. I avoid it with intention.
Your sounds are serrated blades my ears can hardly stand to hear.
Your touch is trite at best after years have trampled the desire.
It all tastes like resentment.