According to the Dandelions

The last of the red-hot lovers is out in the moonlight looking for the
lost libido his latest dearest darling tossed out her car window into
the roses as she pulled away, tires squealing, gravel flying.

All the dandelions out there have folded up their petals! Like wee
umbrellas folded up upside-down, their handles rooted in the earth.
Didn’t they used to stay open all night, like convenience stores?

What if some night-owl scamp of a honeybee on his way home to
the hive and the clean sheets on the bed of his fast-asleep queen
should suddenly get an impossible attack of the munchies?

They never used to close, the dandelions, did they? He’s almost
positive they never did. Nothing is exactly the way it used to be.
Everything else is much different. Her, him, the dandelions.
Joe Smith