I fall on beds but never trip, A woven wave you love to grip. On frosty nights I’m snug and set - I wrap you tight. What am I yet?

I make you dizzy while riding something that isn’t alive.

In a restaurant I’m worn with pride, Hiding pen stains deep inside. I’ve got more pockets than a thief, Holding notepads, cash, and grief.

Like a shallot, I am peeled in sections, dry skin easing the dissection. I panfry quick, just till fragrant, my segments allude to a spice with pointed ends. Fantastical bloodsuckers abhor me, and before a date I repel thee, though I love this endlessly.

I am cloaked in dedication I arrive in the silence. But by the time you know me name, You’ve already lost your spark. What am I?