Comfortable-* *being in a physical or mental state of comfort.

"She's always so comfortable in that chair."
Memories flood into my mind of her sitting calmly in her chair. I can picture her sitting there, rocking slightly and smiling over at her best friend and partner. Her old frail hands reaching out for his but coming up short. His image fades while her smile grows cold.

Comfortable- content and undisturbed

"She looks so comfortable."
Fragile and unmoving, she lays in a hospital bed. She's curled up in a bright quilt intricately designed with flowers and sheep. She's incredibly thin, I can see each bone and vein in her hands. Her skin is pale and her hair snow white. I can see her gums through her open mouth. Her eyes are dark purple and sinking into her skull. Her shallow breaths are the only sound I can hear.

Comfortable- physical comfort, support, or ease.

"We just hope that you're comfortable"
She's moaning aloud in pain. She's thrashing at anyone and anything. Nurses come in and sedate her. She's filled up with morphine while we sit here waiting. She opens her eyes and moans as we run up to say hello. Just as quick as she opens her eyes, she's gone.

Comfortable- *at ease

It's a beautiful thing
to bare one's soul.
To have it to be loved.
To feel safe
when naked exposed.
Vulnerable
yet comfortable.

This I resolute
Salads can't create ****.
More bounce to the ounce.

I feel for you, but I won't hold onto the past
because I know I'm never going back there.
Even if I wanted to, I wouldn't do it.
I've grown too much to step backwards
into who I used to be when I was with you.
Yes, it would be comfortable.
But I don't want to ever live that state.
The state of mind that the only time
I can be comfortable is when I'm yours.
I don't need that mindset.
Plus, you don't want that anyway.
You're happy, and I'm usually happy.
Break ups happen for a reason and
there's no reason to hold onto something
that's already let go of you.

I used to care about what you think
I used to wonder what actually is haunting you,
When we are out in public.

Is it the future?
Is it your pass?
A nightmare?
Perhaps us?

If it is us, what is it exactly?

I used to care about
What you think of me
When I try those new clothes.
When I try a new look.

But then you're like,
"Doesn't matter. You're pretty."
But it all seems like a pike
When you struggle to say the last word.

Once, a little birdie sings at me.

Maybe that's just the brave little me.
"Who cares about what they think?"

So I stopped.

I stopped with all the worrying,
Because I want to breathe again.

You are the first guy in a while I haven't been mad at, soely sexually attracted to, and or just uncomfortable around.
Maybe...no.. I know my brain is twisting  the kind acts you show me for attraction but I like you.
I really like you.
The cheesy hugs to the catch of the eye or the pulling me just far enough away from my group of friend to have a though brief, nice conversation about my day.I  notice.
And now I notice the tired in your voice the and sad in you walk but also the victory and laugher in that smile and strut of yours.
It started as a joke and soon I felt comfortable in your arms though once you left I wanted them around me again. Maybe as more or maybe just you have you make me smile just a little while longer.
Yeah. I like this feeling...I want more sure but I'm comfortable and I'm not quite ready to change that.

Calm.
There's a resounding calm over me.
The day was long.
You're not here.
But that's not to say you won't be again.
This hot toddy is perfection.
The only thing that could make it better is your company.
I miss you, but not painfully today.
Today I miss you comfortably;
In a way that says I'm adjusting to whatever this is.

Paused on the veranda
  for a poetic tête-à-tête,
we sipped vintage wine
  and spoke of days gone hither
      when we were much greener,
  tripping the nimbly light
   and guzzling cheap beer into
      the wee hours of night's obscurity,
wiser and older, yet still imagining
        one day we'll conquer the world,
resigned to this present moment
     we comfortably reminisce,
               midst the effervescent
                                bubbly of reality

No one knows,
This hobby of mine,
Where I write down thoughts,
And try to rhyme.

I may be very uncomfortable,
When sharing a poem with you,
Because I feel my thoughts,
Should always stay true.

So if I ever shared,
A poem with you,
I shared it because,
I felt comfortable with you.