I have begun to think, oddly and frequently, of food. I believe it was the bread you first brought to courting that began it; the honey of course added to it. That honey has been on my mind with a terrible frequency, of late.
There are so many ways to prepare honey -- creamed, waxed, thinned through with fruit of the utmost sweetness. I think of strawberries most often; blueberries as well, though I think they would leave a frequent stain.
Then again, there is something to be said for stains. Marks on skin speak of permanence and possession. It's something to consider. Perhaps blueberry fingers ought be in our future.
And then my mind wanders to more savory treats -- I feel certain you are a man who cares for spice, something exotic in his food, something unique.
This is why I have built for you what I have built. It's a very simple tool, but I think one that perhaps carries with it many promises.
It's something I have developed, a very fine and thorough extractor. Many plants, many fruits, they will produce an oil, something with a flavor, that can be used for cooking or other pursuits. You will have no trouble pressing a hearty measure from whatever comes to hand.
I beg your indulgence if this is a silly gift, but I wished to make something for you of my own hands, as you have made something for me with yours.