Surrounded by snow,
an ice cube tray and custard,
I await my abduction.

The freezer door unbolts,
I am seized,
and brought to room temperature.

My thin plastic shield torn,
pepperoni and mushrooms exposed.
I steadily thaw.

Inserted into the inferno,
the cooking commences.
It feels expectedly toasty.

Although confined by the crust,
roasted bell peppers pop and purvey,
creating a cohesive combo.

After fifteen minutes,
extracted from the warmth,
and positioned on a pedestal,

in comes the menacing mezzaluna.
This is my determined destiny.
I am divided into equal eighths.

Lifted off my sturdy cardboard backing,
parmesan and mozzarella mingling,
I perceive prayer and praise.

I cannot be calmed,
my saucy puree neither,
one final resistance.

Roof of mouth scorched,
taste buds tingle,
Chomp.