Down your body like perspiration, smooth through the creaks of your skin etching my love across your borders. No boundaries, just land masses like the Caribbean Islands. Speak through your tempo and rhythm like Bachata/Merengue, caress you like revolution. Across your back, draped on your shoulders like the flag of republica dominicana, this is my only patriotism. My only form of nationalist love. Love you like cacao and tobacco, exportations of the country, this is currency. You smell like Puerto Plata, and taste like Moca. This is what my parent’s left behind? Not you but if you remind me of my mother country then who can dislike you?