Is it love?, by Eloise Beltz-Decker

When I'm with him, I'm
        giggly
    almost euphoric, even;
I am speechless,
    despite my gift for the gab.
I look into his eyes and see
        myself
    reflected in the perfect mirror
    of his soul.
The real me is
    rather plain,
    mousy,
    book-bound;
    a nerd.
The me _he_ sees is
    smart,
    fun,
    witty,
    and *infinitely* sexy.
Which is me?
Do I lose
        - my _self_ -
    in this merging,
    this joining of souls?
I fight the urges I wish
    to obey,
    holding to plainness like
    a suit of armor.
If I become what he sees in me
    I will lose,
    but also gain.
Is it enough?