He smells like his life:

weary smells of
whiskey and leather,
the dead stink of
too many cigarettes,
the mingled perfumes
of many lovely women,
the dark, sticky
whiff of lust and ***,
the acrid stench of
cordite and ******,
the copper reek of blood,
the honest sweat of work,
with just a hint of ink
and **** thrown in.

This effluvium may not
be sweetly attractive
or call to butterflies
and hummingbirds,

but it is the aroma
of a life lived alive.

   ~mce