David Kinsey lives in San Diego and bartends. He has an MA from Goldsmiths. His work has appeared in
Monkeybicycle and a forthcoming issue of Word Riot.
And you’re lying on the bed and staring
straight through the ceiling. And you’re
saying. I told you so. And you’re right, you
did. How we got here: a missed stop sign, your
thighs, my hands and we were looking for a
way out. This is a crime scene with so much
sweat and trauma. You’re tracing us in chalk,
trying to tell me where it all went wrong. I
want to say. Somewhere around hello. But
you like the mystery, the page turning thriller:
two bodies in bed and one of them isn’t
breathing, just listening, while you, my supple
Sherlock, keep saying. I told you so. And I
know, I heard you the first time.