Sonnet I

I was not sure that I could say I would
Be rich, or even know if I might find
A friend, lover, or at least someone good,
Someone who I was sure could be so kind
As to look at me with eyes that were soft,
To look upon me and see not a fake
Image of masculinity that oft
Passes for virility, but to take
Into account that I might simply need
To be taken for who I am, a man,
Who even I in honesty concede
Was never able to conceive a plan
Other than a life of simplicity
With a girl at ease with complicity.