Angels Blush

At first, my picture was up in the Post Office. Then, they took it down.
“Racy,” they called it. “Too damn sexy.”
I have done things in the line at the Post Office that could make angels blush and The Devil bite his lip.
They got rid of the stamps you lick because of me. How I’d lick a stamp, postal carriers fainted by the dozens.
Calling my actions sinful and “moral cancer,” the Postmaster General declared war on me, and stamps became stickers that weekend.
Don’t ask me where I stick mine. You couldn’t handle the thought of it.