Everyone knows the small, nagging annoyance of food caught between the teeth, and the poem begins right there. The speaker describes how the tongue keeps worrying at it, and the more you fuss, the more firmly it lodges. Then comes the hunt for a toothpick, even a matchstick, and the string of verbs (poke, probe, dig, dislodge) mimics that fidgety effort. The pun on "nuts" and "ground" adds a playful wink.
What surprises is the shift in feeling. The irritation turns into pleasure: the speaker calls it "ecstasy" and "bliss" to toy with the last scrap on the tongue, savoring it secretly behind a palm. The final lines then link this to love, which the speaker believes can be like a morsel of memory lodged in the mind. Like the food, a memory can nag, resist removal, and still be sweet to return to. The mood is humorous and teasing, with a quiet tenderness underneath.