Ode to my Boretti

I love you oven, dear
your fiery-playful flames,
your sudden upward sparkles
slowly cooking all around
those Italian lighting-flames.

There's a more potent smell:
eyes lower.
A mouth hungers.
Lids almost open.
My casserole is aglow.

Based on Tyuchetv's I love your eyes. The work of a genius which I have blatantly bastardized.