Have you ever been in love?
Was it ambrosial?
Like saffron petals.
Or scorched amaretto.
These were the walls of Madison.
A culinary edifice, signed by her,
Designed by Mulberry,
And soon, a victual cathedral for all.
It was an extension of home.
The white limestone was imported from Amalfi.
And still bore hints of the sea.
It was molded by hand,
Into pallid bricks,
And fused with marble.
The floors told their own tale.
Of pink Floriditas.
And late nights in Madrid.
The Azul Noche granite roamed the width of the dining room, like a sediment rug, whilst the slender legs of Cocobolo tables, harvested off the coast of Costa Rica, danced atop its lacquered shell.
A bamboo chest, stamped in New South Wales, reigned aloft such a table.
Claire beheld the package, in the same manner she had as a child on December 25th. She removed the wooden lid and set it gently aside. She then relieved the parcel of straw, botanical leaves, and other such materials.
Until only the 22 kilo shipment of Macadamia nuts remained.
She observed the textured morsels and smiled. She thought of the dessert that she could prepare for him, rife with cherries, Tahitian vanilla ice cream, and Valrhona chocolate.
And then her smile began to dim.
For she missed him.
Because she was his friend, too.
Implode. Part XVIX – DK