status quo

scent of summer
lies just under the brow
sliding down
in a bead of perspiration
if i am awake, i must die
if i am dead, already,
let my skin rot
until it smells like
the fragrant night-flowers
enrapturing the streets of New Delhi
after dusk, day after day.
a tiny sliver
of a wisp of smoke
lingers at the corner of my mouth,
anticipating a moist lick
of the tongue
but the aftertaste of French brandy, say Cognac if you will,
just doesn't let go.
and, thus, I stay...
...status quo