Another Mysterious Banter

I don't understand. I don't understand. Do you? Nancy?
Jazz peeps on my pillow. [Reading between the lines].
Do you know what I love? I love the time before you actually admit your feelings to each other. Or you are not sure if the other likes you.

Note: Do not judge a book by it's cover. I was reminded of that in a clear distinct fashion just this moment.
I must remind myself of all the traditional idiomatic phrases ever read. Mother's Wisdom, I shall call it.
Endless bitter banter.

Banterious. Vicariously slashing peas open.
Tendrils of sound curl around my neck.
Strangling me with the wails.
And moans.
And cries of despair.

A flowing rhythm and stream.
Rushing out my fingernails.
Down into my spine and secret hideaway.

Into my soles.
down to the veins proper.

Crisp callers of the wailing air.
Call out to your abandoned kin.
Retrieve the broken ones.
You speak of great things,
But commit nought but sin.

Pray tell us, what path must be chosen?
Is this the way to the orchard of beauty?
And I, essentially vegetate
Cooperspot pixelates.
Johnson complicates.
Angeline masturbates.
Warhols duplicate.
Fruits of delite.
Strawberries entice.

Voices of your sighs,
Belittle and split me in 2.
Strain borne from
another time.
Embodies my senses.
And the spirit is lost behind.
Strobing leaves and their wondrous feathers.
Grasping the thread of sanity in this fragmented marketplace.

The sea green pea soup of my life was thus.
The rest must follow the divergent path in the woods of hollow.
Great misconceived, planktonous notions!