A Cracked Bowl

He loved my beauty, not my wandering mind. In fact ,he preferred me to be near mute I knitted Mobius strips whilst intertwined. And listened to his voice as to a flute. I soon grew tired of hearing his crazed views I found a man who liked to hear me speak. Until I mentioned I owned ten green shoes. Bottles yes,but shoes made me a freak Then I found a man who never spoke. He listened with a kind,inviting smile. I would have liked to test him with a joke. But feared I might then harm his utter guile . Formidable the quest to match one’s soul. Instead I’ll keep it here in a cracked bowl