My name is Zach, and I don't have a treehouse.
My new neighbor, Oliver, has an amazing treehouse built just for him. He's so lucky.
What I have is a stack of unread library books and a LOUD
...
[+]
to jump through our chaste window,
carry us over the midnight snow
under a far moon?
Dare we—at this stage in the old game—dare
to feel the galloping charge
of hot breath, rough hair?
Outside our window the dreamwolf passes,
hungry, unconcerned with us.