Ouroboros Spine Moon of my life

yes

as if he were the warm foamcaps of waves encircling the white sands of the duck;

beneath the sunfire of his gaze, the duck felt her edges catch alight, flame coursing throat and vein and loin, heated until each inch of her skin felt filled with conflagration;

"aiolos," his voice a breath and a whisper of time, time; the winds within her rose, and the hot twirling of heart toiling, until truly and effortlessly she was gone,

swallowed by the ember of his nearness, aware and awake, and come to thrumming heady life.