To Sister Louisa Immaculata,
the hot nun
with whom I volunteered at the pantry
last weekend
who subsequently rejected all my advances:
I am sorry for consequently cursing at you
both so frequently and so enthusiastically.

I shouldn’t have called you a tease
or a harlot.
I don’t know what came over me
other than pure lust for your hot
hot body.
I suppose that robe must make you hot
however taut and tone you may be beneath it
on any given day.

But last weekend, you were ever so tone
and taut
and hot
and my behavior was hot-tempered
and when the conversation got heated,
the responses I fired out
were just too much,
I see that now.
You were just so sweet
and innocent
and… damn, hot.

Still, in my defense:
when a man and a woman
work in close quarters for a number of hours
it is only assumed
that nature might take its course,
even when one of them
may be a Sister of Judgement and Mercy.

Nonetheless,
I’m sorry for how I acted
and what I insinuated about your marriage
and I wish I could take it all back
except that moment
when I held the ladder for you.
That was… pretty cool.

Why would you think that your behavior
would be considered appropriate?
Did you really think the robes and marriage
would excuse you from typical social behavior?