Pretentious Fleeting

At times in prose, my words wither with a  
pretentious fleeting as the valance of day
shawls. Then back to wither without a trace
as candlelight flickers in shadows
and a specter shakes my Gothic violin  
like a resen of snow in winter's glow.
 
On the walls of my sacred space as your kiss  
pollinates my soul with your lips of sweet resin  
in my transparency living with a ghost and then back  
to wither without a trace. As a specter shakes my  
Gothic violin in an open-ended portmanteau's
portfolio.