Where have you been, where have you gone?

I thought I saw you across the sea,
forgiving and forgetting,
but you always told me you could never spit that bad habit out from behind your teeth,
the one that would continue to burn the roof of your mouth from the edge of your fire tongue.  

You said it was because you actually felt something.

So I wondered where you have been,
and you held up the maps before I could focus the telescope,
but I did see the back of your head,
filled with grime and character.

I could have swum all night to get to you.

And I questioned where you have gone,
I could have plunged into the creaking sea,
to swallow me up and casually toss me on the ground you have walked upon,
but I didn’t because I couldn’t tell if it was you from that far of a distance.

I ran out of options.  
I pulled on my tangled clothes to consider the grey areas,
since there isn’t much left to do.