Potential.
Enough to graze your fingertips across
The kind that enduces goosebumps
A soft weight dangling from your limbs
A nauseousness pumping adrenaline into your circuits
The Almost.

And now it's over.
The precipice,
The "one ill-timed-slip" into seduction,
The conscious choice to stay on the cliff
To not tumble into selfish indulgence,
This once-favored hang out, gone.
Nothing but a meadow,
Grassy, blooming, safe.

The adrenaline, the temptation, the choice
Vanished.
Nothing but a humid breeze to imply movement
A hint that something was once here, before.

And now, just another memory.
Another secret.