I had him caught by the ovaries-testicles of the unconscious if it existed

 It had him caught by the ovaries-testicles of the unconscious if it existed. Supreme tenderness of passion. Breakfast first. To cover up nightmares. Then senses and visions. Visions of light. Morning melody. Empty at night. And waste from others. Of your fears, vile. From emptying the spells. Even anger is recognized. Walls of disenchantment of anger. With whom nobody sleeps safe. Even go to bed early to calm her down in the wear and tear of the long hours. In that stampede of the meaninglessness of life.

Sense, then ex-isto as hypo/thesis.