A classic Tale of Maybe

The game, she'd say, is best played    
with a side of gin    
and a handful of sleeping pills    
in case the nights get long    
because long nights hold a tendency    
to leave oneself soiled    
in faux pas    
   
He was doomed to adore    
her confounded inclinations    
that teased him beyond bearing    
and her childlike vivacity    
was infinitely better expressed    
through eyes    
than any of the words    
that might have passed her lips    
   
She could never grow accustomed    
to life's fineries    
although she had an affinity    
for light civilities    
as long as they'd not impede    
on her appetite    
for the less traveled veins    
of primal thinking    
   
He would let loose doves    
stained in mirth    
watch them soar into the blue sky    
then fall limp back to earth    
weighted down by buckshot    
and she'd smile, because her mind    
had not yet learned to rein in    
her trigger finger