To place or to seat, Of a fowl, to warm. A ready your feet, or for numbers, a swarm. To duck 'neath the ground, for great lights above, Satisfaction, one's found, for their race, or their love.

I'm completely odd, except at my start. I go on forever, although humanity has mapped me to forty-one million numbers in length. While no pattern exists to define me, a theorem exists to predict my distribution. This riddle reads hard, but truly I'm the only divisible answer.

I can be made of stone, language, or sound, Built to keep limits or keep you aground. Break me to pass or stay on your side, I’m the thin line where two worlds collide.

I'm cold when I'm full, Hot when I starve. When you want your whisky neat, You'll need what my tummy keeps.

Remove my last two, and I become someone just fitting in - one with my surroundings. Remove my first, and never a borrower nor this be. Altogether, I mix and stir, all in a blur - until everything is smooth and pureed.