Dawn redux

Dawn, they tell me you are
a poet. Alright, so I see.
When I first saw thee,
naturally my mind twisted
lazily into disbelief,
intuitively into recognition.
More importantly,
I gave you soup
but forgot to ask
your name. Dawn,
after much had passed,
is still a prettiest thing.
Yet it rained right after
and I was indoors while
you hid from me
in my shy little room
doing quantum physics.
Then morning was gilded
already. Then the night,
a dinner you were there,
dressed in green, or was it white.
My memory confuses me tonight,
that night, I noticed your boots
and maybe your skirt, or was it
jeans. No, that was another.
Tell me it was a skirt.
Tell me they do not make
chocolate-shaped merlions.
What am I saying?
Why was I so amused?
Only because you were Dawn.
All the glances I sneaked
when I was not glancing otherwise,
all was in vain, since
I forgot to ask
for your loft that night.
No matter.
For I was pleased enough to feel
Dawn with her rosy fingers creep
on my uinsical sensibilities.
Noli me-