Denim and de nada

I know that you will die, and you do not. 
Two holes errantly ripped upon my cloth 
While clinging to my body with your claws: 
By these, I will remember, once you're gone.

Two holes; two eyes, yellow and shifting black.
Two ears—unscathed, unlike your other half's;
A silver tear upon her final face, 
A silver dollar growing in her place.

Two holes—nine lives, all destined to exhaust:
Of this I fear, and of this you know not. 
Unburdened life lies in that nonchalance,
So now, these stand to stop the only loss:

Two holes errantly ripped upon my cloth.