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Garnished
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.
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