What does this even mean, Deena?

After thirty-five injurious, felicitous, inebriated and (fay-tiptoed) phantasmic hours, a lucid dream fell over me—-
culling into me.
It was heavy, creating
interruption and
altercation on the
hollow of my stitching.
I’m creating a concoction, don’t you know, an equation for separation and the make-shift nuances of odalisques. Stir twice, call true, this trumpeting kiss observes rhapsody and sweet. [...]