I like that more abstract interpretation, Richard.
On a literal level, I don't actually see the man as "old," despite his self-deprecating reference as such, and I don't see him as creepily, inappropriately lecherous, either.
But he's definitely in love with a romantic ideal, not a person. As is the young woman, too, passively "waiting/ until my true love comes, and then we kiss." She may or may not have a particular person in mind, but either way her "true love" seems secondary to her own self-image as a young, beautiful leading lady.
When I was eighteen, a middle-aged man became obsessed with me, or rather with what a man's ability to "win" a young, slim, large-busted blonde represents in our culture; and my boyfriend at the time also seemed obsessed with that same idea of me, rather than with who I really was. Both guys claimed to love me intensely, while demonstrating ZERO interest in my thoughts and feelings and goals and desires. And they were both very big on being seen monopolizing my attention in public. I was a symbol to be flaunted before other men. (In fact, they often seemed to care far more about what random other men might be thinking than what I, their supposed beloved, actually thought.)
At least our y=2x age difference eventually helped the older guy realize how delusional it was to claim to love someone that he didn't even bother to regard as an autonomous, thinking, feeling human being. My boyfriend (y=x+5) never figured that out.
I think the sonnet does a great job of showing that these two characters inhabit separate universes.
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