A Decadence Cycle (part 1 of 14)

Aria
In one curt breath, my decadence has jelled
To rank despondency; to think that I—
Your stalwart lover—should be thus expelled,
With harshest hurry, canes me, drains me dry;
And yet you laugh, insouciant, so soon
After my ignominious retreat?
O fickle strumpet! Must I importune
To taste again your pleasures indiscreet?
Resolved am I to rest your faithful swain,
Head up, ears cocked, awaiting patiently
Your clarion call, your siren-sweet refrain!
Then every cock that crows shall crow for me:
Your beck and call I'll hasten hence to heed
And gladly to your every end accede.

This just delights me no end...

Who can tell me who this person is? ETA: Comments page no longer SFW.

A Decadence Cycle (part 2 of 14)

Variatio 1.
The furies, with a fickle attitude
By decadence and dearth divided, sing
Of this, my tiny, amber pinkie ring,
Give to me by my sunshine, a postlude
To days remembered halcyon, honeydewed—
Forgetting willfully the daily sting
That love, however deeply felt, can bring
When every other word is misconstrued.
This ring—rather, its like—served as a token
Of love too soon, too carelessly profferred:
What did I say that evening? What was heard
And understood? Three little words misspoken?
From there, how did we get so badly broken?
Since when do furies feed on the absurd?