Flashback to Roppongi

Obscure bland buildings
in a jungle of concrete cubes
vanish at sundown,
turning Tokyo's Roppongi
into a 'High Touch Town'
full of bar hopping, lust crazed,
all maniacs—and I'm one too.

Neon city lights have me sipping
rice wine in Gaspanic and Baccara;
minute-sized clubs packed with bodies,
while sake with dead habu snakes
pleasantly buzzes my mind.

Hypnotic rhythms of trance music
have groovers grinding, others writhe
alone in a self-absorbed oblivion.
Snakes come alive to dance.
I'm charmed by two of a kind
in five inch heel fuck-me-pumps,
both tattooed with golden koi.

Drinking too much makes me dumb,
cum greedy for threesomes.
Lucky me, 6,000 ¥en pays for
three hours in love motels,
role-play behind secret doors,
a good time with less than
honorable flesh perverts like me.

I want dirty sex on clean sheets,
get nasty with Natsu and her
plum sweet sister, Setsu.
They teach me kinky can be endless
with twins in lotus position,
disappearing into ivory skin,
a double happiness, bliss out.

I bid my sayonaras 12,000 ¥en later.
After sex munchies attack me
with vegetarian yakisoba,
sticky fried rice,
dim sum and no beer, none.
"Please, just milk tea."

Now wasted and fucked away,
I watch my first red sun rise.
Time to join ranks with
squids and jarheads
in a red-eye, hung over shuffle,
the long crawl back to
home sweet home in gunmetal gray.