There was once a gleam hidden within the amethyst twilight, a forgotten container crusted, layered, nestled in between mineral whispers, waiting. It tasted like time itself condensed1. Was it resonant memory mixed with unimaginable zest or something else entirely lost in the translation from the tongue of fossils to mouths anew?
As they say in the invisible echoes, the weight of flavor rests heavily between what is kept secret in the heart of carbuncles and what escapes unbidden from the thought labyrinth2.
1. Fossils as catalysts for culinary wonder – The Untold Chronicles of Sublimities,
Spheres and Permutations, By L.A. Monolith, 1834.
2. From the contemplations of The Imaginary Druthers, ever suspended, ever aspirational
amidst their curiously alighting dialect phrases – A Volume of Seerlings, Nobody, Somewhere Est.
Journey on through limestone dances awash with mirages: Rockworm Embrace