The poem begins with a wish: if memory lived only in the head, desire could be reasoned with. It doesn't, so the speaker turns the body into a series of characters: a stupid red neck that slams its fist on the table, then a crabby baby that sulks, goes on hunger strike, and threatens "i die on you." The baby mistakes one particular body for the bottle, the only thing that will feed it.
The speaker tries everything sensible: putting a thousand miles between them and the person, offering the body someone else. Nothing works. The body is cunning, rejecting the substitute and still craving "that body from back there." The tone is darkly comic, full of tantrums and bad temper, yet the gasping and near-suffocation at the end are real. The final line, "It's embarrassing," lands as a wry, defeated admission. The mood mixes exasperation, shame, and a longing the speaker can't argue away. The opening parenthesis is never closed, which fits: the thought won't finish tidily.