Creased net curtains
with stocking details –
old man’s smoked glass –
a soiled two-way mirror
His fag-stubbed ashtray
brims high with butts
Half-read thrillers
sit sliced by bookmarks
Yesterday’s puzzle –
cold clues unsolved
Ink stains his skin –
a love deeply carved
She remains in him –
his beloved strife
He is now alone –
a Brighton still life